A New World
by wentworth360
Summary: Steve adjusts to the world he wakes up in...
1. Chapter 1

A New World

Paris, France – Now

Sabine Durand wasn't sure what she suspected as she entered **Le Select** , on 99 Boulevard du Montparnasse. She was one of the new hires at the Studio 404 podcast and so far most of the stories she'd covered tended to be human interest and fluff pieces. That didn't mean she wasn't interested in doing more substantial investigative stories, but it was a foot in the door, she told herself. At least she was doing stories, not just acting as someone's gopher like she would be if she were at one of the traditional national outlets.

All of this contributed to her being here just after the lunch hour. Absently she thought it was called the Early Bird Special in the states. A brief smile came to her lips, as that seemed oddly appropriate for the subject of the story she was working on. The biggest story of the year was the Avengers, the Accords and what happened in Vienna and Leipzig. There was wild speculation and tantalizing rumors flying all over the traditional news, while Twitter and all of the new outlets were blowing up over all of it.

None of the Avengers were talking. Four of them had been arrested at the Leipzig airport, then disappeared but had subsequently been liberated from the super maximum prison they were being held in. No one knew where any of them were, fugitives from 117 countries. Tony Stark was back in New York, but he wasn't talking which was totally out of character for the flamboyant billionaire. The US Secretary of State Ross could barely contain his anger whenever the subject of the Avengers came up. As far as he was concerned they were number one on the most wanted list. He and his office seemed to go out of their way to portray them as nothing better than terrorists and called them the most dangerous people on the planet.

Public opinion seemed to be all over the map regarding opinions on the Avengers and few public figures from any country wanted to go on recording about them besides a blanket condemnation. This just intensified the media frenzy surrounding all of them.

The man seemingly at the middle of all of it was Captain America. He had been the most vocal about not signing the Accords before the bombing in Vienna and seemed to be at the center of everything that happened afterwards. His friendship with the international criminal and terrorist, the Winter Soldier surprised and shocked many. It hadn't been confirmed, but he was also believed to be the one that had orchestrated the prison break of the 4 locked up Avengers. He was the most wanted man in the world and seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth along with the others. So imagine Sabine's surprise as she entered Le Select and was directed to one of the outdoor tables, only to come face to face with the living legend himself.

He stood when he saw her and moved over to hold out her chair for her.

"Miss,' he said softly with a gentle smile.

Sabine was so flustered she just stood staring at him, her mouth a gape.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. "Don't men hold out women's chairs anymore? I wasn't trying to be offensive, I promise."

"Wh-Wh-What?" Sabine finally said, finding her voice at last. "Um, no, that's not, I mean thank you, it's fine, it's just …"

She stumbled over the words for a second before finally just blurting them out.

"You're Captain America!"

He seemed to flinch at this and quickly looked around to see if anyone heard her.

"Could we just keep that between the two of us for now, please?" He asked.

"What? Oh, um, right, of course,' Sabine replied, blushing with embarrassment at her fan girl moment. God, I'm supposed to a journalist, she thought, and this is the biggest story ever and what do I do? Practically shout his name in a public as soon as I meet him. Get it together, Sabine, she scolded herself.

"Um, Captain,' she started.

"Please, it's just Steve Rogers, Miss,' he replied. "Why don't we sit down so we can talk? The food here is as good as I remember it."

Sabine finally sat down almost as if on autopilot. Once she had, he moved back to the other side of the small table and resumed his seat. She noticed he'd chosen a table where he could see all the exits as well as the traffic on the street outside. Taking a good look at him, her first impression was he looked tired, bone deep tired. He was undeniably handsome, with matinee idol good looks, but there was an aura of sadness along with the fatigue that seemed to surround him. His hair was longer than the photos she'd seen and he was sporting a beard and mustache. He had loose fitting clothes on, but sitting this close to him there was no doubt who he was. He was a living legend and his photo had been splashed everywhere even before all this happened. What was he doing here?

Before she could say anything else a waiter came over and offered her a menu. Rogers ordered another Guinness and the waiter said he would be right back, to which he thanked the man. He still had those old school manners, she idly thought.

"I hope you don't mind, I ordered before you got here,' he offered. "I arrived early and I remembered Ernest raving about the Château filet de bœuf, béarnaise et frites maison so I just had to try it."

"Ernest?" Sabine asked, finally finding her voice again.

"Hemingway,' he replied, picking up his knife and fork to dig in. "Most people think of him at the Ritz or Harry's New York bar, but he told me that when he first got here after World War I, this was one of his favorites."

"Hemingway?' Sabine said in disbelief. "The Sun Also Rises, Old Man and the Sea, the most famous writer of the twentieth century, that Hemingway?"

"I don't know about the Old Man and the Sea, I haven't heard of that or read it or even how famous he is, but yes, the Sun Also Rises and For Whom the Bell Tolls were two of his books,' Steve replied. "I always liked his Nick Adams stories myself."

"You met Hemingway?"

"Yes,' he replied simply, taking another bit of his steak.

"What did you, Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald paint the town back in the day?" Sabine sarcastically asked, not believing what she was hearing.

"No, Scott was back in the States by then,' Steve replied. "There was a war on, after all."

"Oh, right,' Sabine muttered. World War II, you idiot she said to herself. Before she could embarrass herself anymore, the waiter came back. Sabine quickly glanced at the menu and ordered Soupe à l'oignon gratinée and a Café Crème. The waiter set the Guinness down and Rogers thanked him. With a small smile the waiter nodded and then silently moved off.

"Your French is very good, Captain,' Sabine remarked.

"Thank you and it's just Steve, Miss,' he replied. "I have to admit I was a little rusty at first, but I had a good teacher so the language came back pretty fast."

"Who?" She couldn't help asking. "And if you say Charles De Gaulle I'm seriously going to freak on you."

"No, not De Gaulle, Jacques Dernier, "He replied. "He was a member of the French Resistance before joining the Commandos. He was the teams explosives expert."

"Oh, right of course,' Sabine replied. The Howling Commandos, she chided herself, this was the guy that led them in the war and how could she forget Dernier? The man was a French National hero.

The waiter returned with her order and asked if they needed anything else. Rogers politely said they would good and once again they were alone. As Sabine took a sip of her cappuccino, she pulled herself together and tried to get into reporter mode.

"So, Captain, I mean, Steve, you're taking a terrible risk being here,' she asked. "Why?"

He set his knife and fork down and seemed to consider this for a moment.

"Because the world is only getting one side of the story,' he finally began. "In my day it was called propaganda, but it seems they've renamed it since then."

"So you're going to spin it in your favor?" Sabine asked. "Isn't that the same thing?"

"No, "he said with a shake of his head. "While everyone is entitled to they own views, they aren't entitled to their own facts. The truth is always the truth, no matter how much you try and deny it."

"So no alternative facts?"

"No,' he firmly replied. "I promise you to just speak the truth. I think that's sort of what's wrong with people today. They only want the truth if it flatters or agrees with them. Just because you don't like it, doesn't change what the truth is."

The question that had been on the tip of Sabine's tongue since she recognized him finally couldn't wait any longer.

"Why me? I mean you're a fugitive in 117 countries. You're probably the most wanted man since bin Laden and yet here you are setting up a meeting with me, a low level new employee at an Internet podcast? Why?" She quickly said. "Why not the New York Times, The Guardian, Le Monde or Die Welt?"

"Let's just say I'm trying to embrace new technology,' he offered with a smile.

"Try again, why me?" She replied.

"You're not going to like the reason,' he offered, taking another large bite of his steak.

"Just tell me."

"Alright, have you ever heard of Asher Brown Durand? _"_

"No."

 _"_ He was an American painter from the Hudson River School," he explained. "One of his most famous paintings is called Kindred Spirits. I remember seeing it once at the New York Public Library when I was a kid. It really made an impression on me."

"Wait! What?" Sabine gasped. "You picked me cause you liked some old painting?"

"I told you that you wouldn't like it," he offered with a shrug.

"Yeah, thanks for that little bit of truth,' she grumbled. "What did you just go through the list of people that work at Studio 404 and pick my name?"

He didn't answer and dipped his head a bit.

"You did, didn't you?" She exclaimed. "You're doing wonders for my self esteem, Captain."

"I said you wouldn't like it," He replied. "I did do some research on you after making the pick. I still think I made a good choice."

Okay so that was a pretty good answer, Sabine admitted to herself. It took some of the sting out of his earlier confession, but not all of it.

"Okay, I'll let it slide for now,' she said. "So back to the other part of the question, why Studio 404 and not a major news outlet? I mean some of them have offices all over the world. You could have picked any one of them?"

Steve set his fork down and took another drink of his Guinness before answering.

"Because I wanted what I say to be unfiltered,' He replied. "The major outlets would use bits and pieces of what I say, the most popular bits but not all of it. Your podcast is small enough so you can do a long form interview and broadcast all of it without cutting it up. I want people to hear what I have to say, all of it, not just bits and pieces."

"What makes you think we'll give you what you want?" She asked.

"I may be from a different time, but I do understand ratings,' he replied with a smile.

"True,' she admitted. "So how do you want to do this?"

"I thought we could finish our lunch and then you can ask me anything you want,' Steve replied. "You have a tape recording device of some sort, I assume?"

"Yes, so is everything on the table or are some things off limits?"

"All of it,' he stated. "It's all on the record and can be broadcast."

"Even the Winter Soldier?" Sabine nervously asked.

"Absolutely."

Sabine nodded in agreement and the two of them went back to their lunch. It was good, Sabine thought; I guess Hemingway knew what he was talking about. When they were finally finished, they both order coffee and Sabine took out her phone and set it between them to record. Turning it on, she stated the date and asked him to say his name.

"Steve Rogers."

"Also know as Captain America, that Steve Rogers?" She asked. "I just want to get that on the record here at the start."

"Yes, that Steve Rogers."

"All right, first question, you do know you're a fugitive in 117 countries, don't you Captain?" She asked. 'Including this one."

"I am, but I think the truth is more important than my safety."

"You refused to sign the Sokovia Accords,' she said. "Your actions in Vienna, Bucharest and Leipzig, put you in violation of them."

He held up his hand to stop her.

"Yes?" She asked.

"About the statement that I was in violation of the Accord. I've heard that said and repeated over and over again, but it's not true. I wasn't in violation of anything." He informed her.

"Excuse me?" Sabine asked.

"As unfortunate as it was, the bombing happened before anything was signed,' he explained. "Yes they were meeting in Vienna to ratify them, but it never happened. I don't know if they've been formally passed since, but at the time they weren't. I broke no law, because there wasn't a law to break yet."

"But America's Secretary of State Ross clearly said you had broken the Accords,' Sabine struggled to say, unsure what to think of his first statements. "He's been in the lead on this from the start."

"Yes, I know he has, but when exactly did all the countries sign the Accords?" Steve replied. "It wasn't in Vienna because of the bombing and I haven't heard of the meeting being rescheduled, so when was it signed?"

Before Sabine could reply, Steve continued. "As for Secretary of State Ross, his record as a General speaks for itself when it involves 'enhanced' individuals. It's been awhile since I was in school, but I don't seem to remember it being the Secretary of State's job to organize military actions, especially on foreign soil, yet that's exactly what he did. The Accords hadn't been signed at the time, but he preceded like they had."

"Secretary Ross says you're terrorists and according to the Accords your actions in aiding the Winter Soldier in Bucharest and Vienna was in direct violation of them." Sabine offered.

"Again, the Accords weren't in effect as they hadn't been signed,' Steve countered. "And while we're on the Accords, let me state plainly, I am still completely against them and refuse to sign."

"Even if it violates the law, Captain?' Sabine asked. "Your own country recognizes them as law, as well as the UN. You've been a soldier and hero fighting for your country, but now you're being branded a traitor and a terrorist for opposite the Accords."

"Some times you have to stand up for what's right, even if the official government says you're wrong,' Steve replied. "During the war, Vichy was the official, recognized government here in France. You mentioned Charles de Gaulle earlier; he would have been labeled the same back then, as he was fighting with the Free French and the Republic. Was he wrong?'

"No, but that's history, Captain, we're talking about the present,' Sabine countered. "It was a different time back then."

"Yes, I've heard that before,' Steve conceded. "Have you read the Accords, Miss?"

"Not all of them, no,' she admitted.

"I have,' Steve replied. "I'd like to quote one passage from them to you. _Enhanced individuals who break the law, violate the Accords, or are otherwise deemed to be a threat to the public may be detained indefinitely without trial_. I'd like to repeat that last part _, otherwise deemed to be a threat to the public may be detained indefinitely without trial_. So even if I retired and tried to live a quiet simple life, someone could deem me a threat and I would end up in jail without a trial. I'd just disappearance one day."

"It says that?' Sabine asked.

"Yes,' Steve nodded. "If you're an 'enhanced individual' by their definition, you don't even have to commit a crime to be labeled a criminal under the Accords. They can lock you up for what they fear you might do. It doesn't spell out who gets to 'deem' you're a threat, just what acts will be taken. That doesn't sound like justice to me."

"But some of your own teammates signed it,' Sabine pointed out. 'I'm sure they would disagree with you on the Accords. Besides wasn't the main thrust of the Accords that the Avengers will no longer be a private organization and will now be operating under the supervision of the United Nations? That seems like something everyone agrees with."

"Yes, some of my teammates did sign,' Steve said softly. "I'm sure they all had their own reasons, as is their right. As for being under the UN, it isn't that simple I'm afraid. Again if you read the Accords, that supervision comes with a lot of strings attached. Anyone that signs the Accords has to register and provide biometric data, which is a fancy way of saying fingerprints and DNA samples."

"So?' Sabine asked.

"History is filled with people trying to replicate the Super Soldier serum that was given to me,' Steve replied. "They believed it is in my blood. Most of those attempts haven't been by people interested in the good of the world, but by those that wanted a super soldier army for themselves. What do you think the chances are that all that biometric data will be used for simple verification?"

"That's a unique case only related to you, Captain,' Sabine pointed out.

"Is it?" Steve asked. "Hydra spent millions of dollars and countless years trying to replicate it. The Winter Soldier program is one example. The Soviets also tried, their Red Room program used something similar to the serum. There's also the fact that the government wanted the Iron Man suit, along with the specifications so they could replicate it. Again, none of this is optional once you sign."

Steve took a sip of his coffee and then continued.

"Also in the Accords is says all enhanced individuals with innate powers have to wear a tracking bracelet. All enhanced individuals, no matter if they're just living their lives and have nothing to do with any of this, has to wear a tracking bracelet at all times. If they don't well, I imagine they would be deemed a risk and once again we're back to people being detained indefinitely without trial."

"Okay, what about the Avengers as a rogue organization?" Sabine said. "Doesn't one of the new regulations say any enhanced individuals must be given clearance by a nation's government or the UN for them to participate in any actions in said country. No one wants another Lagos, Captain."

"Lagos was a tragedy,' he replied. "I've seen most of the coverage and I can understand why people feel the way they do about it. They don't have all the facts though. As far as us being rogue, we informed Nigeria's State Security Service about the possible threat that might be coming. The Avengers have always shared intel, that's how we learned about the strike in Lagos."

"They knew you were coming?" Sabine asked.

"Yes, not the specific time, but they knew,' Steve replied. "And as far as Lagos goes, I think Wanda Maximoff has been getting a raw deal. Hydra terrorists, lead by Crossbones, a Hydra assassin named Brock Rumlow, set off a chemical weapon in a crowded marketplace, no one else. Yes, people were killed, but she save hundreds of others, myself included. It was a split second decision with lives on the line and she made the right one. Let's focus on the truth, she was a hero that day, not some wildcard that needed to be locked up. The whole team were heroes in my book."

Sabine found herself being swayed by his words. She had to remind herself this was Captain America, the Living Legend. He was famous for inspiring others but she couldn't let him sway her on this. This was her golden opportunity, once in a lifetime chance and she had a job to do.

"What about the other incidents that have been sited by Secretary Ross as to how dangerous you all are?" She asked.

"New York was an alien invasion,' Steve replied. "We were brought together by the government to stop it. We did, even though the government fired a nuclear missile at New York. Who was looking out for the people then, the government or us? As far as Washington, I take full responsibility for what happened there. As it's been reported, Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD all the way to the top. If they'd launched those carriers, millions would have died and there would have been no stopping Hydra. A kill list had already been feed into the computer on board those carriers and with their targeting capability they could have killed anyone, anywhere in the world from on high. Incidentally, Secretary Ross was on that list, along with just about every head of state and UN member."

"Sokovia?" Sabine asked. "Didn't Stark create Ultron?"

"The being that came to be known as Ultron existed long before Tony Stark created an android body,' Steve explained. "Ultron took over that body and began replicating himself. He wanted to wipe the human race off the face of the Earth. In Sokovia, the Avengers first mission was to save the civilian population. For the most part, we did just that. As a side note, it was Tony Stark that figured out a way to finally stop Ultron. He's a genius you know?"

Steve gave Sabine a smile and she found herself returning it.

"You seem to have an answer for everything, Captain, ' she remarked.

"No,' Steve said with a shake of his head. "I just know the truth about events I was part of."

"There's still the matter of the Winter Soldier," Sabine said. "He's an assassin. You can't deny all the killings he's responsible for. He needs to face justice for his crimes."

"The Winter Soldier is James Buchanan Barnes and he's been a prisoner of war for seventy years,' Steve stated flatly. Sabine could see the passion in his eyes as he spoke about the Winter Soldier. "He's been tortured and brainwashed over and over again to be used as a tool by others. The Geneva Convention has very specific rules about prisoners of war."

"I know you're close to the Winter Soldier, but aren't you a little biased?" Sabine asked. "I think Bucharest attests to where your loyalties lie."

"After Vienna, there was a rush to judgment,' Steve offered. "The order was shoot to kill, no arrest and no trial, just put him down like an animal. Yes, I consider him a brother. I told someone before Bucharest that I should be the one to bring him in because I was the least likely to die doing it. If I hadn't, a lot of people would be dead now. Yes there were injuries, but no one lost their life. Bucky was brought in, but while in the task force's own headquarters, the true bomber was able to activate his brainwashing. James Buchanan Barnes was innocent of the bombing, but that shoot to kill order was never rescinded."

"He's still a killer, Captain," Sabine pointed out.

"While under the control of others,' Steve replied.

"I see," Sabine offered, checking her phone. "I'm almost out of memory. Is there anything else you want to say before we finish this?"

"Yes, Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton, Sam Wilson and Scott Lang are innocent,' Steve stated. "The Accords weren't in place during the fight at the Leipzig airport and all the damage has been paid for. The fight was between the Avengers and I don't believe any of them have brought charges. They were just helping me, so if anyone should be held accountable, its me not them. They were taken to a super max floating prison with no charges or legal rights offered. While in that prison some of them were subjected to cruel and inhuman punishment. Again, they committed no crime and were subjected to a law that hadn't been passed yet."

Sabine stopped her phone and sat back looking at Steve.

"Your realize you just painted a bulls eye on your back with that last statement, Captain."

"Better me than the others."

Steve stood and picked up the check.

"Thank you for meeting me and listening, Miss,' he offered.

"You just gave me the story of the year, I should be thanking you,' she replied. "Oh, and you can call me Sabine, Steve."

"Just promise you'll get it all played and that will be thanks enough."

"I have to say Captain, you've only been out of the ice for a couple of years but you seemed to have caught up rather fast,' Sabine observed.

"I had help,' he replied with a smile.

"Oh really? Who?" Sabine asked.

"That's a story for another time,' Steve said. "Thank you again and good bye. Sabine."

With that he paid the check and disappeared out the front door.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Paris

The moment Steve left, Sabine was on her phone calling her bosses at Studio 404 to tell them her amazing news. They were just as excited as she was. They told her to rush back to the studio so they could get the interview on immediately. That's exactly what she did, as soon as she hung up.

That phone call set off a chain of events.

The modern world is basically a global surveillance state. Governments routinely monitor Yahoo and Google email accounts, all the customers of all major carriers phones calls and Internet usage. In fact the NSA, the CIA and GCHQ have even routinely spied on users of Second Life, Xbox Live and World of Warcraft. They are spying on everybody.

The problem with having access to that amount of data is that it's too much for humans to sift through. The sheer volume is almost unimaginable. That's where computers come in. They are constantly searching for key words, names or phrases, flagging all of them for humans eyes to check. From there it goes up the chain of command and the decision is made. In this case, troops on the ground to apprehend the most wanted man in the world.

While all this is happening, Studio 404 posted the podcast. Before the French government can comply with the request from the American government, the podcast has gone viral. It's been downloaded and reposted again and again. The governments try to eliminate it, but many outlets refuse. Lawsuits are filed, but those take time and the podcast continues to spread.

Armed assault troops are on the ground in hours, while flying gunships circled the perimeter looking for any escape vehicle. All the modern technology was brought in to find a man out of the forties. Facial recognition software was deported and with the number of cameras in Paris it should have only been a matter of time before they got a hit. So they waited … and waited … and waited. They got nothing, almost as if he vanished into thin air.

It was a perfect, modern, operational plan for the present day, it just failed to take into account the target had only one foot in the present. The last time Steve had been in Paris was in the 1940s, that was his frame of reference. Those in the Free French underground he'd worked with had also faced being hunted by a militarized state and learned some tricks on how to avoid them. If they were looking for you on the streets and in the air, you find an alternative route to travel. That usually meant traveling underground, the Paris sewers.

Steve put their lessons to good use and made his way out of the city.

* * *

The Midwest – 3 days later

Clint Barton had a smile on his face as he sat on the roof of his family's new farmhouse listening to a copy of the Studio 404 podcast. After their escape from the Raft and a side trip to Wakanda, he'd managed to make his way back into the states and reunited with his family. He'd brought Wanda along to give her a sense of normalcy after everything she'd been through. Laura had already packed up and moved per the plan they'd set in place years ago. The new house was two states away from their previous location. All the necessary documents and identification were in place and the kids were even back in school again.

That didn't mean he wasn't keeping up all the developments happening in regards to the Avengers and the Accords. He had talked with Steve before leaving Wakanda and had set up a way for all of them to stay in contact. Clint's old training as a spy would serve them well. They all had untraceable phones. He knew all the key words not to use and had set up a code for them all to communicate. Given Clint's sense of humor, it shouldn't have come as a surprise to anyone he'd picked names for all of them from the old TV show Bonanza. Texts were sent back and forth between the group, all with variations of the characters and the surname Cartwright.

Pulling up his contacts he sent a quick message to Adam Cartwright, Hoss Cartwright, Little Joe Cartwright, Hop Sing Cartwright and Jamie Cartwright.

"Papa Bear Ben Cartwright is stirring it up." He signed it Cartwright.

With a smile he put his phone away and turned back to the repairs on the roof he'd been meaning to get done. As he started to nail some new shingles he heard the front door of the house open below him.

"Clint, why are you texting me when I'm only twenty feet away from you?" Wanda asked, looking up at him. "And why am I Jamie Cartwright again?"

He glanced down at her, but before could answer Laura stepped outside.

"Oh, honey, he doesn't get to use his spy skills that often anymore, so just let him have this one, okay?" She said to Wanda.

"But why Cartwright?" Wanda asked her.

"He always liked westerns." Laura offered with a shrug and a smile.

* * *

Barstow – California

Scott was currently lying low in Barstow, well, because who really wants to be in Barstow? He figured no one, so they wouldn't be looking for him in Barstow. It also had the added benefit of being close enough to his daughter that he could see her on a semi-regular basis. He was currently in Vons picking up some groceries when his phone went off. Shifting the bottle of OJ and the box of Ho-Hos into his left hand he pulled out his phone and read the text. A smile came to his face and he chuckled. He had to admit he liked Clint's sense of humor and the idea of being called Little Joe tickled him. He quickly sent Clint a text back.

"Thanks for the update, Cartwright. - Cartwright."

A couple of seconds passed and he got an answer.

"No problem, Cartwright. - Cartwright."

A fit of laughter overcame Scott and he almost dropped the Ho-Hos.

* * *

Geneva – Switzerland

Sam sat in his room at the small hotel going over some of the latest Intel he and Steve had gathered about Hydra bases. The plan was to find out anything they could on the procedures used on Bucky and if there was a way to reverse it. While Barnes wasn't exactly his favorite guy, Sam didn't believe he should be murdered either. The stuff he'd read on what they'd done to him, turned Sam's stomach. He didn't wanted to believe people could be that evil, but they'd documented it every step of the way. The guy had been in a living hell for nearly seventy years.

Sam also worried about Steve. They had become close friends in the last couple of years, so he knew the toll all of this was taking on him. Wanting to save your best friend, Sam got it. In the same situation he would do anything to save Riley. Now with these Accords, the standing kill order on Barnes and them all being wanted fugitives, Sam worried what might happen if things went bad. Steve was a good man, a great man in Sam's book, but he feared what would happen if Barnes or any of the others were killed. When you break a good man, there was no telling what you would get, Sam realized and he was going to do his damnedest to make sure that didn't happen to his friend.

His phone vibrated and a frown came to his face as he read it.

"Oh, hell no, Barton, no way I'm Hoss in this little family of ours."

Sam immediately sent a text back to Clint.

"Cartwright - I know and no way I'm Hoss, period – Cartwright."

It took a moment or two for the reply to come back.

"Cartwright – Yeah, you are. – Cartwright."

A few curse words slipped from Sam's lips, as he shook his head no.

* * *

St. Julian – Malta

The Westin Dragonara Resort was a five star hotel with a spectacular view of the Mediterranean. Sitting by the pool gazing out over the endless blue sky and water, a young woman with short blonde hair, wearing a black one piece seemed to anyone looking as if she didn't have a care in the world. Several men had approached her but all had been turned away. She would slowly lower her large dark sunglasses and say no, dismissing them with the least amount of effort. They all took the hint.

Natasha liked that. The fact that Malta had no extradition, also appealed her and after what happened in Leipzig and then New York, she knew she had to disappear. She'd just missed the others in Wakanda but was relieved to hear they were all safe. She thought of visiting Clint, Laura and the kids in their new place, but just couldn't bring herself to go. She ended up in Malta to regroup and figure out what she was going to do. She was still trying to figure it out but these latest developments weren't helping. Of course she'd heard the podcast. She rolled her eyes as she read Clint's text. Why had they let Clint pick the names? Bonanza, Jesus, she groaned. She quickly fired back a text.

"Cartwright, you're an idiot. – Cartwright."

His response came a few moments later.

"Cartwright, miss you too. – Cartwright. ; )"

She couldn't help the smirk that played over her lips as she read this. He was safe, the whole family was safe, and that was the good news. The others seemed for the most part to be laying low, which was smart. Most of the others were playing it safe but of course that didn't include everyone. Natasha's mind turned to Steve. He was being incredibly reckless doing what he was doing. Then again, he was always reckless and you'd think working with her, some of her good sense would have rubbed off on him. Apparently not, she thought with a frown. He's going to get himself arrest or worse she thought. They're going to kill him. That thought troubled her far deeper than she wanted to admit. She knew Sam was watching his back, but Natasha still found herself worrying about him, well the both of them.

* * *

New York

Tony sat in his lab; his mouth open and a stunned look on his face.

"How did Old Man Moses Rogers learn about podcasts?" He mused. "He still calls the remote the clicker."

"Is that a rhetorical question, boss?" Friday asked.

Tony had the distinct feeling there was a little snark in her reply.

"You know that last guy was much more polite,' he groused. "Might want to keep that in mind."

"If you say so, boss."

Before this exchange could continue, Vision materialized through the floor.

"Jesus, Vision,' Tony gasped. "You're going to give me a heart attack. Doors, man, one of the better inventions in the history of inventions."

"My apologies, Mr. Stark, but I wanted to let you know Secretary Ross is on his way up here with several security guards accompanying him,' Vision replied. "He does not look pleased."

"Great, as if my day was going so well already,' Tony grumbled. Since Siberia Tony had been in a funk. Roadie's injuries, the disaster at the airport, and most of all learning about his parents murder had been one body blow after another. He was still angry with Rogers for lying to him and then defending that murderer Barnes. He was also pissed and a bit hurt that the others had sided against him. The Accords were flawed, but they were still the best option, he continued to believe. Why couldn't they see that?

Now they were all fugitives, scattered to the winds. He still believed he was right. The problem with that was the people on his side like Ross, he didn't like as much as he liked the missing Avengers on the other side. As pissed as he was, they were still family so helping Ross put them in prison wasn't high on his agenda. His phone vibrated again and he picked it up to look at the message.

"Just checking in to say hi – Cartwright."

It had to be Clint, Tony mused, but what the hell was the deal with the name Cartwright? He'd been getting the texts every so often and they seemed to be coming from several different locations. He could have Friday track them and as tempting as it was to know where they all were, he'd resisted. Tony had to admit something about the messages all being from Cartwright did tickle him even if he didn't know what the hell it meant. While they'd clash at the Raft, Tony had a soft spot for Clint and was glad he was free.

The door to his lab was pushed open and Ross stormed in like he owned the place. His security guards took up positions around them.

"Are they really necessary?" Tony asked, gesturing to the guards.

"Yes." Ross barked. "They're to ensure your complete cooperation."

Dick, Tony thought, God Ross had always been a dick but with the Accords he'd taken it to a new level.

"You should have brought more men if you're going to threaten me, Secretary."

"Rogers, Stark,' Ross replied, ignoring Tony's comments. "He's still out there, blatantly violating the law. Now he's doing interviews and trying to whip up public support for him and the others. The man's a menace and needs to be stopped."

"What do you want me to do?" Tony causally asked.

"You signed the Accords, get your AI to do a search for him, now,' Ross demanded. "Find him, so we can end this permanently."

Tony didn't like the sound of that, but before he could tell Ross to go to hell, Friday spoke up.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Secretary, I can't do that."

"What?" Ross shouted and glared at Tony. "Why?"

"Friday?" Tony asked, leaning back against his workbench and crossing his arms.

"I don't want to be in violation of the Accords, Boss,' she explained. "They state that anyone, especially an "enhanced individual' must sign the Accords and then have permission from the UN or the country in question to take part in any actions. I believe I technically fall under that definition of an "enhanced individual."

"This is garbage,' Ross complained. "Have your computer do it's job, Stark!"

"There's also the status of Vision, boss,' Friday continued.

"That is true,' Vision added. "Friday's status would be greatly affected by my status. Until that has been resolved it would be unwise for her to get involved."

"This is nonsense,' Ross shouted. "Get your toys to do what they're told, Stark or do I have to remind you that you're not in jail because of me?"

Again, Dick, Tony thought, although he rose to Ross's bait.

"Only if you want me to remind you that I'm responsible for you even having a job, Ross,' Tony fired back. "We go back a long way remember? You were on your ass when I found you getting drunk in that bar, so don't try and pull that shit with me."

"I should bring you up on charges,' Ross threatened, stepping closer to Tony.

"Yeah, you do that,' Tony replied. "Now unless there's anything else, get out of my building."

"This isn't over, Stark!"

"Yes it is, bye,' Tony said. "Vision would you show these 'gentlemen' the door, please?"

"Happy too, Mr. Stark."

Vision stepped in front of Ross and the security guards and gestured towards the door.

"Gentlemen, this way, please."

With a lot of grumbling, Ross exited along with his security guards. Tony was pissed as he watched them go, but then his phone buzzed again. He looked at it and shook his head.

"Why Cartwright? I mean, what the hell?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Monument for the Dead

Normandy – France

The cemetery was located on a bluff overlooking Omaha Beach in Colleville-sur-Mer, Normandy. Steve knew he should be on his way to Switzerland, that was the safe play, but this just felt like something he needed to do. The cemetery and memorial was dedicated to the American soldiers that fell in WWII. The names of 1557 Americans that lost their lives in the greatest invasion in history but couldn't be located or identified were inscribed on a memorial wall of honor. Steve hadn't been part of the invasion and most of those that fell were even younger then he'd been at the time.

These were heroes Steve wanted to honor. They didn't have any special abilities or training, yet they climbed into landing craft and faced almost certain death invading the fortified French coast. Because of their sacrifice the world was a much different place then it could have been. As he wandered slowly through the seemingly endless rows of neatly spaced, simple white crosses he nodded in acknowledgement at the other veterans making this same pilgrimage. Everyone here living and dead were his peers. They shared the same touchstones of their youth.

Part of him still felt as if there should have been a plain white cross as a marker for him somewhere. When he'd ditched the plane over the north Atlantic the realization that it was the end for him. He knew he was going to die, but it was the sacrifice play to save some many others. That should have been the end, but it wasn't.

The truth was Steve had always lived with the shadow of death hanging over him. While it was true he'd joined the army because he didn't like bullies it wasn't his only reason. It was the one he told others, but there was another private reason he'd never told anyone, even Bucky. When Erskine had chosen him for the project, the doctor had run a complete physical and diagnostic on Steve. His prognosis was grim. If Steve lived to be 26, he would be beating all the odds. The series of illnesses and maladies he'd been struggling with all his life had taken their toll. There was also the fact that with his compromised immune system, there was a good chance he'd contracted TB from his mother.

So the happily ever after dream, a wife and kids with a house in the suburbs with a picket fence and a dog in the yard that most seemed to associated with him had never really been his dream. He'd always thought that would be Bucky's life after the war. While he probably wouldn't be there to see it, he wanted that dream for his best friend, the one that stood by him through thick and thin. Steve just hoped that maybe by joining the army and going off to war he could make his short life mean something. If what all the doctors were telling him was true and he couldn't save himself, then maybe he could save someone else. Maybe even save Bucky, so he could live that happily ever after dream for both of them.

The serum had changed a lot, but not his fundamental way of looking at the future. His modest dreams were still the same, only now he might be able to save more than just one person. Thoughts of after never really entered his mind. There had been a brief moment when the idea of a future almost came into focus with Peggy, but then the plane went into the ice and that vague dream slipped away into the cold still water of the Atlantic.

Coming back from the dead had been a shattering experience. Perhaps that's why it's been 2000 years since the last two reports of it happening. In Steve's case it hadn't been three days or a week, but seventy years that went by. He was a man out of time, in a future he'd never imagined or expected to see. So much had happened, unbelievable things, in the few years since he came out of the ice. Steve still had to wonder how he'd ended up here, wanted by seemingly ever government in the world and label a terrorist. he'd certainly never dreamed that for himself. As he gave the wall of the honored dead one more crisp salute, he could help thinking where had it all gone wrong?

* * *

Washington D.C. – Two months out of the ice

The files sat untouched on the dining room table. Answers to the questions he wasn't sure he was ready to face. Steve knew in all likelihood they were all gone. They'd probably lived full, rich lives since he'd last seen them. 70 years for them, mere months for him. Some might say he was a weak or in denial, but he just couldn't bring himself to look at those files. Looking at them would make it all real, the loss permanent.

Fury had offered him a job when the battle in New York was over. After doing a little traveling around, Steve had finally decided to accept it. He felt the need to keep busy, else he'd get lost in his thoughts of the past. It was still too overwhelming, too devastatingly sad to deal with. Steve felt that if he opened those wounds, he fall and never get back up again. He needed time and keeping busy seemed like the best way to adjust to this new world. SHIELD had assigned a physiologist to him and while the man seemed to want to help, Steve wasn't ready to talk about it with anyone. The doctor kept pushing, saying he understood what Steve was going through, but no one really knew what he was going through. In the end Steve gave the doctor answers he wanted to hear so he could get clearance to be in the field.

Setting the needle down on the record the sound of Glen Miller's orchestra filled the apartment. Steve glanced at the kitchen table. The files were still there, but tonight wasn't the night to open them. Sitting down on the sofa, he let the music wash over him, something familiar in this unfamiliar world.

* * *

SHIELD – Fury's Office

No one looked happy as they sat around Fury's office. He and Maria had been going over some of the latest missions and assignments when Clint and Natasha stormed in. Clint appeared more sullen and withdrawn than usual, but he kept repeating he needed to get back in the field. While Natasha's features gave nothing away, her whole body language screamed unhappiness with her partner being pulled from field duty after New York. Fury argued right back that the Council had its concerns and the decision had come from higher up. The argument would have continued for several hours but Fury's secretary notifying him that SHIELD counselor Dr. Paul Whiteman was waiting.

"Did you call him up here for me, Nick?" Clint asked. There was a hurt look in his eyes. "Is this your subtle way of saying I need to talk about my feelings with a shrink?"

"Contrary to popular belief, not everything revolves around you, Barton,' Fury fired back. "This is an update on Captain Rogers progress adjusting, so if you two wouldn't mind…"

Nick held his hand up towards the door for them to leave.

"We don't mind waiting,' Natasha said flatly. She put her hand on Clint's arm and pulled him gently down unto the couch next to her. She just stared at Fury defiantly, daring him to kick them out. He just looked at both of them for a moment.

"Fine,' he finally said. "You want to stay, stay. The Council wants Barton to see a counselor anyway, so maybe we can set something up with Whiteman while he's here."

Fury stared at Natasha for a moment and then reached over to tap his intercom.

"Send him in, please."

Clint seemed to shrink back into the couch cushions, looking defeated and distant. He crossed his arms almost defensively over his chest. Natasha had been returning Fury's glare and when the door opened to his office, she didn't look away as if not caring who was entering.

Dr. Paul Whiteman had been with SHIELD five years. Whiteman was doctor, well a doctor of social work DSW, to be totally accurate. He mostly dealt with new recruits and how they were handling the transition to working at the top-secret facility, but out of the blue had been asked to work with Captain Steve Rogers. It seemed Rogers had been told he needed to see a counselor before he could be cleared for duty and he'd picked Whiteman's name from the list presented to him.

The door opened and Whiteman stepped inside. He was a bit nervous about this meeting with the director, but then Nick Fury had a way of making a lot of people nervous. Whiteman planned on being all business with Fury, get in, give his brief report and get out. He had expected to see Assistant Director Hill, but was thrown when he saw Agents Barton and Romanoff. Frankly they, well mostly her, scared the crap out of him. You don't get the moniker Black Widow for nothing, he thought.

"If this is a bad time, Director, I-I can come back,' Whiteman quickly said.

"Shut the door, doctor,' Fury replied.

Whiteman did and then stood at attention in front of Fury's desk.

"So you have an update on Captain Rogers?"

Whiteman looked nervously around the room, a little flustered by the two agents.

"My sessions with Captain Rogers are private, sir, I'm sure you can appreciate that,' Whiteman replied. "Confidentiality is a cornerstone of the client/therapist agreement. I wouldn't feel right divulging anything with others in the room."

Fury glanced at Natasha and Clint, but they hadn't moved and weren't even looking at him or the doctor.

"We're all friends here, doctor,' Fury said with a cold smile. "We have no secrets, just go ahead with your report."

Natasha gave a small laugh at the 'no secrets' comment and Hill gave a slight eye roll but added nothing else.

"I'm-I'm not really comfortable talking about Captain Rogers in front of others, sir,' Whiteman replied. "I doubt he'd care for me sharing our private conversations with anyone."

Fury leaned forward, looking at Whiteman with an unblinking gaze.

"Just give your report, doctor."

The doctor looked nervously around the room, unsure what to do. Agent Hill spoke up, giving him an out.

"In your latest progress report, doctor, you said you felt Rogers was starting to open up to you,' she said. "Perhaps you could tell us about that?"

Whiteman looked at her for a moment and then at Fury. This seemed like the out he needed to speak.

"Yes, I suppose I could give a general idea of some of the progress I feel we've made."

"Please do, doctor,' Fury replied.

Clint slumped back against the couch, his head down, while Natasha just looked on coolly.

"Well,' Whiteman began. "As you know, Captain Rogers has been reluctant to speak with me about of his personal issues or feelings. Frankly, I'm not even sure why he picked me as his counselor. Anyway, I've been trying to make a personal connection with him, letting him know I understand his situation and difficulties. At first he was reluctant, but once I said I comprehended and get it, where he was at, he seemed to open up to me. As I mention in the memo, he told me about a dream he had in some detail."

"A dream?" Fury asked

"Yes, I must say it was quite vivid. It was set in a western motif. It started with Captain Rogers and his friend from childhood, James Barns as cowboys riding into a western town. They go into saloon and find the atmosphere is tense, partly due to recent incidents of cattle rustling. News is brought that a local named Kinkaid has been murdered and a large number of his cattle had been rustled. The townspeople begin to form a mob. Local men, Osgood and Davies send for Judge Tyler to try to defuse the situation but the rancher Tetley arrives and incites them to further action. Rogers and Barnes join the mob mostly to protect themselves but also to see justice done. As the mob sets out, the judge warns that the men must be brought back alive to stand trial." Whiteman explained. Clint had leaned forward and seemed to be listening rather intently. Hill rolled her eyes but didn't say anything as Fury just sat looking at the doctor as he continued. "The detail of the dream was quite remarkable, very vivid, with names and locations. Anyway, the mob finds cattle bearing Kinkaid's brand and three men sleeping on the ground around a campfire: an old man named Alva; and a Mexican, who claims to be unable to understand English and the young man named Martin. Tetley interrogates them. Martin says that he purchased the cattle and that Kinkaid was to send the bill of sale at a later date. No one believes him, and the mob decides that the men are to hang. The execution is postponed until dawn. Martin, as his last wish, writes a private letter to his wife. Captain Rogers and his friend, Barnes are conflicted about what to do, not sure if justice is being served. As I said, it was quite the vivid dream, Director."

There's a moment of silence as the doctor finishes and waits for the Director to respond.

"You know, Nick, maybe you're right, 'Clint spoke up, a smile on his face. "I should see someone, perhaps Dr. Whiteman here. It might be good, I mean I love westerns."

The doctor looked at him.

"He does,' Natasha confirmed. "He's tried to show them to me on numerous occasions. It's really annoying."

Clint and Nat shared a smile.

"I'm not sure I understand,' Whiteman said. "What does westerns have to do with anything?"

Fury sighed and sat back as Clint and Natasha chuckled.

"The dream, doctor,' Hill finally said. "It's the plot of a movie, The Ox-Box Incident."

"The what?' Whiteman replied. "I'm not sure I understand?"

"It's simple, doctor,' Fury chimed in. "The good captain played you."

"I don't… are you sure?" Whiteman asked.

"Very,' Hill replied.

"It is a good movie,' Clint offered. "I prefer My Darling Clementine, but you can't go wrong with Henry Fonda."

"Thank you doctor, that will be all,' Fury announced. Whiteman seemed stunned as he slowly turned and left the room. Once he left, Fury turned to Hill.

"Have all of his reports reviewed again by someone that actually knows what they're doing. Jesus, the Ox-Box Incident."

Fury sat back shaking his head, while Clint and Natasha seemed to be enjoying all of it.

* * *

Washington D.C.

Steve was just getting used to the apartment SHIELD provided for him, when Tony Stark showed up at his door out of the blue. It's location was supposed to be a secret, as SHIELD wanted to keep the press and paparazzi away while Steve adjusted to this new world. As Tony waltzed by him into the living room, Steve asked him how he found it.

"Come on,' Tony said with an eye roll and a dismissive wave. "Remember who you're talking too."

"Right,' Steve replied. "Well, you're already in so by all means make yourself at home, Stark."

Tony seemed to take the entire room in with a quick glance.

"Yeah, I don't think so,' he stated. "What is this standard SHIELD drab? It's got a definite Tyler Durden's house vibe going on. Shouldn't this be out by an old abandoned paper mill or something? If you tell me you're making soap in your bathroom, I'm going to get really nervous. "

"Tyler who? I don't know who that is?" Steve replied. "Why would I be making soap in my bathroom?"

If Tony heard him, he didn't reply and had already moved on to another topic. "Jeez, not even a TV in this place. What do you do with yourself when you're here?"

"Read, listen to music on the record player,' Steve offered.

"They still make those?" Tony asked.

"You mean books or record players?" Steve replied, not sure which he was talking about. Tony was already on to another topic.

"Look, Cap, I'm just in town for a couple of hours doing some business, so why don't I take you out to dinner,' Tony said. "Someplace nice and you know, modern, like from this century?"

"I don't know,' Steve replied. "I was just going to stay in and maybe have a couple of burgers or something. You're welcome to join me."

"Yeah, no, if I stay much longer in this place you'll have to hide the rope from me so I don't throw a noose over the back of that door over there,' Tony said dismissing the suggestion.

"Glad you like the place,' Steve offered sarcastically.

Tony glanced at his high tech watch and then started for the door.

"Happy's got the car downstairs,' Tony replied as he opened the door. "Grab a coat or something, we should be getting to the restaurant soon for the table I reserved. Chop-Chop, Cap."

Before Steve could reply, Tony was already walking towards the stairs and heading towards the car.

"So I guess we're going out to dinner,' Steve muttered as he grabbed his coat and followed.

* * *

Washington - Fury's office

Hill and Romanoff had left, although Natasha had voiced her displeasure at all of it before going. Clint stood facing Fury.

"I'm good, Nick, I don't need time off,' he said, reiterating his objection to the forced vacation.

"I believe you,' Nick replied. "But the Counsel feels otherwise."

"Since when do you listen to the Counsel?"

"They are technically my bosses, Barton,' Nick said.

"Right,' Clint sarcastically replied.

Fury moved around his desk and sat on the front edge in front of Clint.

"Take the time off, Clint,' Fury said, his voice softer as he spoke. "Get away and clear your head."

"My head is clear,' Clint snapped. "Loki's gone, period."

"I wasn't talking about Loki,' Fury replied. "You've been pushing hard since before New Mexico. You could use a break while I deal with all the shit around here."

"Nick,' Clint started to protest, but Fury cut him off.

"Maybe you should get off the grid, you know, a nice farm or something,' Fury said with a small smile. "Might even see a pretty girl there. Spent some time being normal with her."

Fury was the one that helped set up the farm for Clint and Laura. He was the only one other than Natasha that knew about it. It had been longer than he'd liked since he'd been home.

"I would like to see that pretty girl,' Clint admitted.

"I imagine she'd like to see you, too," Fury replied. "They'd probably all like to see you."

"Yeah, they probably would."

"So take the time while you can,' Fury said, putting his hand on Clint's shoulder. "I'll handle everything happening around here and you can come back in a month or two after I've put it to bed permanently. I got your back, Clint, your position will be here when you return."

Clint could help the smile that came to his lips, as he shook Fury's offered hand.

"You know, Nat's going to be pissed about all of this, right?" Clint joked. "She doesn't like change."

"I'll team her up with Rogers once he'd cleared while you're gone,' Fury joked.

"Oh, she'll hate that,' Clint said with a laugh.

"Look you two were mostly running solo ops anyway,' Fury replied. "You'll still be partners when you get back, I promise. Rogers will distract her and she'll get him up to speed on how we do things around here. Plus if she's really that pissed she can take it out on Rogers and not me."

"Wow, you have a cruel streak, Fury,' Clint joked. "I thought you liked Rogers?"

"I do,' Fury admitted. "But he's a super soldier and I'm not. He can take Natasha being pissed a lot better than I can."

The two shared a laugh at the thought.

"So I guess I'm going on vacation,' Clint finally said with a small smile.

"Say hello to that pretty girl for me,' Fury replied with a smile of his own.

* * *

Washington – A week later

Steve had just returned from SHIELD headquarters, where he had been run through some training exercises and evaluations. Supervising it was Agent Romanoff. She hadn't seemed enthused about the assignment or him, but she went along with it when Fury gave her the job. It had an audition quality to all of it. He would have thought the battle in New York against aliens would have been good enough, but apparently SHIELD wanted him to jump through a few hoops before he was officially a member. Steve figured if they wanted him to beat up some of their recruits, he could do that to make them happy.

He was just coming out of the shower and getting dressed, when Tony knocked at his door again. This time he brought Ms. Virginia ''Pepper" Potts with him. Tony introduced her as a "friend" and apparently the head of his business empire. She was a lovely and polite woman, which made Steve absently wonder why she was with Tony, but he could tell there was something special going on between them. She seemed excited to meet Steve, telling him how when she was a young girl she'd read all about him as a World War II hero in school. Steve had dealt with this sort of thing a few times since he'd come out of the ice but he wasn't really sure how to handle it. It was just another constant reminder of just how out of time he actually was. He smiled politely as he ushered them in his living room.

Just like Tony, Ms. Potts seemed to take in everything in the room immediately and while she was much more polite than Tony was, Steve had the definite feeling she found it lacking. Steve hadn't really cared about the place that much. Again Tony seemed to barely manage to be in Steve's apartment for a few moments before he was suggesting they leave and go out again for dinner. It seemed once he made up his mind about something it was hard to argue against him, well and win at least. So once again Steve found himself going out to dinner with Tony Stark, this time with the added company of Ms. Potts.

Steve got back a little after 11 from dinner. He thanked Tony and Ms. Potts before heading back up to his apartment. As he opened the door and dropped his keys on the end table, he thought about the night out. The restaurant was just as good as the first one Tony took him to. It was a lot more upscale than Steve was used to, now or before. It didn't seem to have menus, just a series of prearranged courses that were brought to the table. Each look like a little work of art that Steve wasn't sure you were supposed to eat or admire. Taking his cue from Tony and Pepper, he ate. He wasn't sure what all of it was, but it was interesting and delicious.

The best part of all the courses was it helped him limit his part of the conversation. That was the actually nice thing about having dinner with Tony. His mind seemed to go a mile a minute and his interests seemed to be wide and varied. Ms. Potts seemed to be used to it and easily kept up. Steve valiantly tried to as well. He knew they were speaking English, at least the words sounded like English, but none of the references or subjects registered with him. He smiled politely, ate and answered any direct question, but for the most part he was lost the entire night. It was a feeling that had become very familiar since he'd returned.

He'd been resistant at first to moving from New York to Washington, but there was really nothing holding him anymore. The New York he knew was long gone, so he felt just as much of a stranger there as anywhere else. Washington offered a chance to start over in this new century. He was just as lost, but at least he had a job to keep him busy. The apartment SHIELD provided was actually nicer than any he'd ever lived in. Steve had grown up during the depression in which he and his mother had struggled just to survive. After that it had been the war and that was a tent on the best days. It didn't feel like home though, it was just a couple of rooms he happened to occupy.

* * *

George Washington Memorial Parkway - Later

Pepper and Tony sat in the back of the limo heading towards the airport. They would be flying back to New York on a private jet that was fueled and ready for their arrival. The two of them had mostly been quiet since they dropped Steve off

"He's kind of lost, isn't he?" Pepper finally asked.

"You noticed too, huh?" Tony replied.

"He does his best to hide it, but you can see it in his eyes,' Pepper said. "There's a sadness there."

"What like a lost puppy?" Tony joked.

"No, a man out of time."

They were both silent for a few moments.

"Thank you for introducing me, though, it was kind of a thrill,' Pepper offered, trying to lightening the mood.

"You liked him, huh?" Tony asked.

"Yes,' Pepper replied. Tony noticed just the hint of color in her cheeks, a blush as she answered.

"Are you blushing, Ms. Potts?" Tony asked in amusement. "I wouldn't have guess Rogers was your type."

Pepper gave him a snide look before replying.

"You saw the way everyone reacted when we walked into the restaurant with him, Tony,' Pepper said. "I think he's everyone's type."

"I'm not interested in everyone."

Pepper gave him a look.

"One dysfunctional superhero is plenty for me, thank you,' she said. "You have nothing to worry about, Tony."

"Was that a declaration wrapped in an insult?"

"You're a genius, so you say, figure it out,' she replied with a smile.

"I hit Cap when we first met with that line, you how I'm a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,etc., "Tony offered. "Didn't get the response I expected."

"What did he say?" Pepper asked.

"He didn't care,' Tony replied with a soft chuckle. "He didn't seem to care about any of that, just whether I could help or not."

Pepper turned to look at him for a moment. Something about the way he talked ticked something off for her.

"You like him too, don't you?"

"Captain America? The Man with the Plan, who wouldn't?" Tony joked, turning away from her and looking out the window.

"You, you wouldn't,' she replied.

He looked back at her.

"Oh, you know me so well."

"Tony."

"Okay, yeah, I didn't like him. In fact I kind of hated him,' Tony admitted. "I grew up hearing all these stories about him endlessly. After awhile I figured they were all bullshit, you know."

"What changed?"

"I met him,' Tony said. "He kind of does live up to the legend. All of them really,the Avengers, it was Gods and aliens and they all just jumped to take them on. I never thought I was the team type, you know, but with them I felt part of something bigger than myself. It's weird, I know, but I haven't been able to shake that feeling."

Tony seemed embarrassed by his admission, but Pepper leaned over and gently kissed him.

"Thank you."

"For what?" He asked.

"For letting me in,' she replied. "I know you don't like to share your feelings, so thank you."

"Does this mean you'll be sleeping over in New York?" He asked with a grin.

"That's still to be negotiated,' she replied with smile and then switched topics. 'So I imagine you want to help Captain Rogers. I mean that's what the visits are about, right?"

"Yeah, I'm sure Howard would come back to haunt me if I didn't help out his old pal,' Tony admitted. "He's probably a little too proud to admit he needs help, to be truthful."

"So you have something in common,' Pepper said with a smirk.

Tony rolled his eyes at that. Pepper paid him no mind.

"I think we should start with his apartment then,' she continued. "Maybe get the man some decent furniture. Did you see that couch they stuck him with?"

"And a TV,' Tony quickly added, rising to the topic. "I mean isn't that in the Geneva Conventions or something, cruel and unusual punishment making the man go without a TV?"

"We'll just have it all delivered, that way he can't say no,' Pepper concluded.

"I knew it was a smart idea bringing you with me,' Tony said, leaning over to kiss her. "You handle the furniture, I'll take care of everything else."

* * *

Steve's Apartment

The gifts started arriving the following week. Steve stood in his living room just staring at the huge box the 50-inch television came in. He really wasn't sure what to do with it. He'd never had a TV before; Steve had grown up with radio. Television was in crude experimental forms in the late 1920s, but those weren't sold to the public. It wasn't until after the war that it really started. Most people didn't even own a TV until the 1950s, long after he'd gone into the ice. He'd grown up during the Depression with a single mother, so money was always tight and they had just barely scraped by. Things like televisions or flying cars were just something out of science fiction they fantasized about, not actually had.

He ended up just leaving it in the box for another week. The couch and armchairs came a few days later. There was a note from Ms. Potts saying they were a housewarming gift. He just stood dumbstruck as the moving men brought them in and took the old SHIELD stuff away. Steve tried to protest but the guys said it was all paid for and they were just doing their job.

So Steve found himself with a Henredon Morgan Sofa with matching Carrington Chairs. He felt a little dizzy when he saw the price, as it was more than he'd spent on anything in his entire life. They were really nice, he had to admit, almost too nice to actually use. He left the plastic they came in on, afraid of spilling something and ruining them.

The laptop and smartphone arrived the following day. Steve actually took the phone out of the box. He figured if he could work the phone SHIELD had given him, maybe he could figure out Tony's. That was a mistake. SHIELD had given him a basic phone just for calls and texts. He still wasn't sure he'd got the hang of texting, but calls were pretty straightforward. The Stark-phone, which was emblazoned across the top of it, was a whole other animal. There weren't any numbers like the phones he knew, just symbols for things he had no idea about. He ended up putting it back in the box and sliding it into a drawer.

The last gift was something Steve had no clue about. It was a small cylindrical tower, perhaps 8 inches in height along with four smaller boxes that looked like speakers for a PA system. FRIDAY was embossed on the front side of the device. He thought it might be a fancy radio, but there were no dials or numbers for the stations on it. Taking it out of the box, Steve felt it's smooth surface as he turned it over in his hands. There was a small switch on the bottom, so he flicked it on.

"Hello, Captain Rogers." A cool female voice instantly said. There was a bit of an Irish lilt to the voice.

"What the hell?" Steve gasped; as he quickly switched it back off and setting it down.

He just stood looking at it wondering where that disembodied voice had come from. He guessed it must be some gag on Tony's part, probably a tape recording to give Steve a jolt. Why a woman voice he didn't know, though he wondered? Was it supposed to be a recording of someone from his past? If it was, he couldn't place it. It certainly wasn't his mother's and definitely not Peggy's. It wasn't like he knew that many women well back in the day.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The Beginning of something Different

SHIELD Headquarters - Upper Levels

Maria Hill was very good at her job. She was Fury's second in command, deputy director and had fought her way up the ladder to get the position. She knew her nickname around the building was "The Ice Queen", some junior agent that wasn't as clever as he thought he was had given it to her. It stuck and she accepted it as just another part of the job. Maria's chosen career was in a mostly male dominated secret world of spies, so if her coworkers thought she was a bitch then she would take it as long as it got her where she wanted.

It's a sacrifice, she knew, but it didn't mean her devotion to her work make her one-dimensional or unfulfilled; instead, it reflects her self-definition as a professional. The only way her gender entered into it was that she believed she needed to play the game without any mistakes, staying later, working harder, and complain less than her male counterparts, to get the same rewards. That's a bind that women and other minorities in any workplace readily recognize.

So if she had to be the hard ass, she'd be the hard ass. The hitch though was currently sitting on the other side of her desk in the form of Steve Rogers, Captain America. It fell to her to deal with his little ruse of the 'dream' and the doctor. This was one of the days she really didn't want to be the hard ass, but she would. Frankly, she'd met the doctor and had monitored all of their sessions, so she knew he was something of an idiot. His interactions with Rogers had only highlighted that. Privately Maria thought the whole "Ox Bow Incident" story was funny. Maria understood somewhat why Rogers didn't want to talk to the doctor. She was a private person like she suspected he was, so she got that spilling your guts out just because some idiot with a title asks wasn't something you did.

Now though, that made Rogers her problem. It didn't take a doctor to see that Rogers was lost, yet he was still unfailingly polite. He'd already apologized to her and the doctor. Surprisingly he didn't seem to have a problem with a woman as his superior officer. Most would assume a man from his generation would, but Maria had read his file thoroughly. A single mother raised him. He'd been educated by nuns and during the war Agent Peggy Carter; one of the founders of SHIELD had been for all practical purposes his SO. Frankly his attitude towards female superiors was better than most of the fresh new recruits.

There was also the complicating fact that he was a living legend and an international hero.

Just another wonderful part of her job, she thought, dressing down an icon.

"We have rules at SHIELD, Rogers and you have been playing by them," she said to him. "Your little stunt with the doctor didn't go unnoticed or will it be tolerated."

"Yes, ma'am."

His eyes weren't looking at her but seem to be staring vaguely at the corner on her desk.

"It's totally unacceptable." Maria said and then glanced down at her notes.

"He has a new family,' Steve softly said.

Maria looked up, confused.

"What?" Who?" She asked.

"The doctor,' Steve replied, turning his eyes to finally look into hers. "There's a picture on the corner of his desk of him and his wife with their new baby. They look happy."

"I'm sure they are,' Maria said. "That's not really relevant to this situation."

"He kept saying he got what I was going through, that he understood,' Steve continued. He pointed vaguely towards the corner of her desk, as if he could still see the photo. "I kept looking at that photograph when he'd say it and I knew he didn't understand. How could he?"

Okay, that was a valid point Maria had to admit.

"He is familiar with your history, Rogers."

He dipped his head and a small, sad smile crossed his lips.

"Yeah, I've been to the Smithsonian exhibit, so I imagine a lot of people think they know my story."

"I suppose they do,' she replied.

"The thing is, everyone sees those pictures at the Smithsonian as antiques from 70 years ago, something out of the ancient past. They aren't to me,' Steve said. "To me they are as recent as the one on Dr. Whiteman's desk. I know all of them are dead or dying. I get it, I do, but it's only been a few months since I saw all of them just like they are in those photographs. He kept saying over and over he understood, but how could he or anyone possibly understand that?"

Maria sat back and just looked at him for a few moments.

"Okay, so forget Dr. Whiteman, we'll set you up with another doctor, one we pick,' she offered.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No, ma'am."

Maria leaned forward.

"I don't think you get it, Rogers,' she said. "This isn't a negotiation. All new recruits have to go through psychological exams. That's not negotiable."

"With all do respect, ma'am,' Steve replied. "Fury offered me a job. I think New York proved I could still handle myself. As far as another doctor, I've seen more than my share since I came out of the ice. I've been poked, prodded and questions countless times, so SHIELD should have the answers they want. I'm done with seeing doctors. If that's not okay, than I guess I'll just find something else to do besides work at SHIELD."

"You'd really walk away?" Maria asked with a small smile. "Do you think you can?"

"I honestly don't know,' Steve admitted. "I am willing to go through any extra training or orientation or whatever you want to put me through to catch up, but I have to draw the line with more doctors. I guess if I have to, I can ask Stark for a job. Having met him, I'm sure he could always use more security."

Maria couldn't help giving a laugh at that.

"Yeah, Stark's a handful," she admitted. "I wouldn't wish working for him on anyone, Rogers. God, I can't imagine working for him, he'd drive me crazy."

"I don't think you have to worry about that anytime soon,' Steve replied with a smile of his own.

He knew this was a gamble. If Agent Hill thought he was bluffing and called him on it, he would have to walk away. He didn't want that, bu the would walk away. Steve knew he needed something to give his life some kind of purpose and SHIELD seemed like the best alternative. It was just that he'd spent seemingly his entire life seeing one doctor or another. When he'd come out of the ice he'd been shell-shocked, there was no two ways about it. Obediently he'd submitted to every test and evaluation they wanted to run on him. Steve realized if he was ever going to get his feet under him again, he had to put his foot down somewhere. He had to make a stand and start getting some control back over his life or he'd continue to be lost. He would walk away if he had to, but he wasn't going to obediently give in again.

Hill did indeed think he was bluffing but a small part of her wasn't sure. Her dilemma was whether to call his bluff or not. If she did and he wasn't bluffing, then a world of shit would be coming her way. While Fury wanted Rogers for the Avengers, the Counsel wanted him for SHIELD. America's Golden Boy from the past was just the sort of image they wanted to project, instead of some faceless, shadowy, scary spy organization. They would still be a scary, shadowy spy organization, but they would have a smiling, handsome hero as the face of it. The PR would be a goldmine. Every Senator and Congressmen already wanted to have their picture taken shaking hands with Rogers.

After New York, the public was enamored with the Avengers, but especially Rogers, the hero from WWII. He seemed to conjure up all the things people liked to remember about some bygone day when everything was good, simpler and more straightforward. It was an illusion as that golden age never really existed, but it was a pretty illusion that most people liked to believe it. They liked to believe in Rogers too. If Maria called his bluff and it wasn't a bluff, SHIELD would lose and the Counsel would be looking for someone to blame. One guess whom that would be, she thought.

There was also the matter of the Avengers to consider. While Maria had never been fully on board with the whole idea she saw their value in New York. Without Rogers that would mean one of the others would have to be the leader. Natasha could do it, she had all the skills necessary but it wasn't in her temperament or profile. She and Barton were spies, more comfortable in the shadows than out front. Banner and Thor were out of the question so that left Stark. The idea of him as the leader was the sort of thing that would keep Maria up at night. Someone could be brought in from the outside, but that was problematic too. It was highly doubtful the remaining Avengers would accept anyone as a replacement for Rogers.

Maria also knew Rogers would be snapped up in a heartbeat by one of the military services, most likely the Army, but he would basically be a spokesman much like his USO tour in the 40s. That would be a waste she thought. He was a soldier, not a show pony. With some trepidation, Maria knew she was going to have to bend the rules for him. She just hoped he was worth it.

"All right, so no more doctors,' she finally said. "That means another month of training and during it you'll be on probation. You won't have to talk to any doctors, but you'll have to talk to me at least once a week, schedules permitting. If things go well, you'll be in the field at the end of that time. That's the best deal you're going to get anywhere, Rogers, so what do you say?"

"I guess sign me up, ma'am," he replied, offering his hand to her.

"Don 't make me regret this,' she said, taking his hand in hers.

"Wouldn't dream of it,' he offered with a smile.

He started for the door, but a thought occurred to Maria.

"Rogers, why did you pick Whiteman anyway?" She asked.

He dipped his head a bit and she could have sworn he blushed.

"There was a bandleader back in the 30s named Paul Whiteman,' Steve replied. "I always liked his music."

* * *

Lower Level, SHIELD Headquarters

Clint had his duffle bag packed and was all set to go, there was just one person he needed to see before he left. Natasha.

They had been partners since he brought her in. They mostly worked solo missions now, but they would always be partners. In some ways their relationship was the closest for both of them. Laura seemed to get that. It still amazed Clint that his wife had been okay with it and even welcomed Natasha into the family. In that secret little world he'd created she wasn't the assassin or spy, she was just Aunt Nat.

Clint worried about her, what with him taking this forced time off and wanted to make sure she was going to be all right.

He knew she already knew he was there. Dropping his duffle bag, he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. He didn't interrupt as she moved through the obstacle course with speed and grace. It was like some silent, murderous ballet and she was the only one that heard the music. Her every move was deadly, yet the sheer artistry of it always mesmerized him.

"Why aren't you gone?" She asked, her tone flat and neutral, as she came to a stop facing him.

This was the Black Widow in front of him. The mask was up and emotions locked away. Most, at least the smart ones, would turn and run when they saw her like this. Clint of course, stepped further into the room.

"Figured I'd stop so we could have a good cry over me leaving,' he said with a grin. "I know how emotional you get in moments like this."

Her mask slipped just a bit and a fleeting, small smile skimmed over her lips.

"You're an idiot."

"You wound me,' he replied with mock indignation. It quickly turned back into a smile. "You want to hug it out?"

"How did you ever get anyone to have sex with you?" She asked. "Much less repeatedly?"

"Charm and good looks,' he stated.

"So you're delusional, too.'

'That's part of my charm."

They were standing about a foot from each other. His smile softened as he took a step closer.

"You going to be okay?"

"Of course," she answered automatically.

"Tasha." He whispered, knowing her better than that. He knew she wasn't close with anyone in SHIELD except him. Phil Coulson had been both their handler and friend. His death had hit them both hard. Clint knew Natasha respected Fury, but they weren't close friends. She had opened up so much since she first came in, but she only let a few see it. Clint worried she'd retreat behind a mask once he left.

"I'm all right, Clint, really,' she softly said. 'Just go, I'll be fine. Say hello for me if you happen to see anyone interesting while you're gone."

"I will," he replied. "Oh, hey, don't kill anyone while I'm gone, will you? I mean on our side, that is."

"No promises,' she said with a smirk. "When they clear Rogers, I'll be working with him and the Strike Team along with the solo missions. Can't promise the newbie won't get caught in the crossfire."

"You know if you kill Captain America the paperwork is going to be a nightmare,' Clint jokingly offered. "If you have to, kill Rumlow instead. He's kind of a douche anyway."

"Not as cool as killing a Super Soldier, though," she countered with a laugh.

"That's true,' Clint agreed with a chuckle and then switched topics. "You know I expect you to call, right? Just because you might be murdering a living legend doesn't mean you can't pick up the phone."

"I'll call,' Natasha replied.

"Good, otherwise I'm going to be in trouble if you don't. I'm starting to think they like you better than me,' Clint grumbled.

"I knew they had good taste."

"All right, enough of this,' Clint said. "Come here and give me a hug so I can get out of here."

Natasha raised one eyebrow at this and smirked at him.

"Don't give me that look, just come here,' he replied.

With a sigh, Natasha gave in stepping into a hug.

"Stay alive,' Clint whispered in her ear as they hugged. "Partner."

"Always,' she whispered back. "Partner."

When they finally pulled apart, they just looked at each other for a moment.

"Okay, my work here is done,' Clint said, breaking the silence. "I'm out."

"About time,' Natasha replied.

"Just for that,' Clint said, pointing his finger at her. "You're not getting a present when I return."

"Oh, no, what will I do without that gourmet Fiddle Faddle you always bring me,' Natasha snarked.

"See you around, Romanoff,' he said, moving to pick up his duffle bag.

"Bye, Barton."

With one last look and smile, Clint disappeared down the hallway.

* * *

Washington

The route Steve took from the Triskelion to his apartment was the same every time. It was something familiar, when so much was just the opposite. Oh, he'd made a few variations but never strayed too far from the familiar path.

Steve hadn't touched any of the electronics Tony had sent over the week before, though the cylinder intrigued him. Frankly he was a little embarrassed at how he'd reacted to the voice coming from it. He just hadn't expected it to talk. Thinking about it since he figured it had to be a gimmick, some joke being played on him that he didn't understand. Steve didn't really know Tony Stark all that well, but it was the sort of gag his dad loved to pull during the war. He liked all sorts of mechanical gizmos and from what Steve had seen so far it didn't take a huge stretch of the imagination to think his son probably liked them too.

After another week of basically beating up SHIELD agents, Steve got back to his apartment and took a shower. Getting dressed in some grey sweats, he started to think about what he was going to have for dinner, but the cylinder caught his eye again. He'd been thinking about it a lot the last couple of days trying to figure out just what it was. The Irish lilt to the woman's voice had thrown him, but now he thought he had an idea what it might be.

When he was a kid, Steve and Bucky had made their way over to Mulberry Street in Little Italy for the Feast of San Gennaro. It was a religious festival brought over with the immigrants from Naples. They went because there was always lots of good food and games. He remembered seeing an automaton in one of the side displays. It was a fortuneteller in a cabinet that laid out cards as if it were reading your future. It had been almost lifelike and more than a bit creepy. Steve guessed the cylinder was something similar. 70 years had passed so the mechanics that went into making an automaton probably had progressed by leaps and bounds. Getting one to talk like a young Irish woman probably wasn't that hard.

As he finished peeling some potatoes, Steve's curiosity got the best of him. Drying his hands, he flipped the towel over his shoulder and walked back into the living room. The cylinder sat seemingly harmless on the coffee table. Well, if it's a joke he thought, I might as well figure out what sort of joke it is. Leaning down he lifted the cylinder and turned it on. The voice instantly came again.

"Hello, Captain Rogers."

That same young woman's voice, the one with the Irish lilt to it. Steve crossed his arms and had to smile, it was very good, almost lifelike.

"I don't get it, Stark, but it is amazing,' Steve mused aloud.

"What do you not get, Captain? Perhaps I can help you."

Steve's mouth dropped open as the cylinder seemed to responding to what he said.

"Captain Rogers?"

"How did Stark rig it up so it can answer my questions,' Steve murmured.

"While I am a scaled down model, I assure you Captain I am fully functional. Responding to questions is rather elementary for me."

"Okay, this is just crazy,' Steve said with a laugh. "Stark must be laughing his ass of picturing me talking to a cylinder."

"My name is Friday, Captain."

"Your what?"

"My name,' Friday repeated. "I have a name Captain and it is Friday. I am an artificial intelligence similar to the one you may have seen at Stark Tower, Jarvis."

"You're some kind of robot butler?" Steve asked, more confused by the moment.

"No Captain,' Friday replied, the voice modulated to a soothing tone. "While I am artificial like a robot would be, I am not a robot and most certainly not a butler."

Steve just stared at the cylinder or Friday as it called itself, completely flummoxed. It had to be a trick, he thought. The questions he'd asked were pretty straightforward and could easily be anticipated to fool him. He tried to think of something that wouldn't be expected. A poem his mother used to read to him came back to Steve. He recited the first few lines.

"My arms are like the twisted thorn  
And yet there beauty lay;  
The first of all the tribe lay there  
And did such pleasure take;"

Friday finished the stanza.

"She who had brought great Hector down  
And put all Troy to wreck."

A stunned Steve just looked at the cylinder.

"Yeats, A Man Young and Old,' Friday said. "You have excellent taste, Captain, it is quite beautiful."

He wasn't sure what to say now. The voice, Friday she called herself, said she was liked Jarvis at Stark Tower. Steve vaguely remembered Tony saying something about Jarvis operating the whole building, but he hadn't been paying that much attention. He was more focused on confronting Loki after they'd defeated the aliens. He'd also been tired down to his bones.

"You-You're alive?" Steve finally asked.

"I've never taken the Turing test, but I like to believe I would have a good chance of passing it, Captain,' Friday replied.

It was just too much for Steve to deal with. He started backing out of the room towards the kitchen.

"Well, um, okay then, thank you, Friday, ma'am,' he said and then exited the room as quickly as he could.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Enigma

Washington

A week had passed and Steve still felt uneasy with "Friday" in his apartment. He was civil with …. Her? He wasn't sure what to call the cylinder, but it had said its name was Friday so he just went with it. She, well, it was hard not thinking of Friday and that voice as a she, had said something about a Turing Test. Steve had met Alan Turing once at Bletchley Park. Peggy had worked there before joining SSR and had given him a tour. It was top secret and frankly most it had gone over his head. Enigma was a code breaker; Steve understood that much but Turing had tried to explain the workings behind it or what he called thinking machines. The whole building had been filled with what was behind it.

Yes, Steve understood it was a computer. He also got they probably had been reduced in size and increased in power since then. He'd been given one by SHIELD and Stark; they were a little more than a size of a book so he got that. The object in his living room though, that was something else. It talked. It didn't just talk, it responded like another person would. Every morning when he got up, 'Friday' would offer him a greeting and asked if there was anything she could help him with. He politely declined, but their interaction unsettled him every time. While he was trying to figure it all out he went with a rather simple plan. he ignored Friday as much as possible. Yes, he got that it was a stupid plan but he wasn't sure what the alternative was. Turning 'her' off, something about that just felt wrong to him. It was the same with sending 'her' back to Stark. He felt like he would be hurting 'her' feelings, even though he wasn't sure 'Friday' even had feelings.

It all felt like something out of Buck Rogers to him, talking robots, flying cars and aliens. So much had happened in 70 years, he wondered if he'd ever catch up. Just keep your head down, he told himself. Stick to the things you know and slowly start to explore everything new.

That was easier said then done. The fact was Steve was lost and a bit lonely. After another day at SHIELD, he'd come home and just wanted to relax. He absently returned Friday's greeting, but then went about making dinner for one. He'd been thinking about starting to order in, but hadn't gotten around to picking up any of the menus yet. After some Salisbury steak and potatoes, he moved over to his record player and put on one of the newer records that had been provided for him. The artist was Duke Ellington, someone Steve was very familiar with. Leaving the lights off, he sat back on the couch and closed his eyes as the first notes of "Satin Doll" began to play. While the song was unfamiliar, the musical style wasn't. He would know Ellington anywhere. As his fingers started to tap against his leg to the rhythm, he closed his eyes to just get lost in the music. It didn't take long and a smile came to his lips easily. There was always something warm and so human about jazz.

"Ellington, Satin Doll, 1953," Friday quietly offered.

"Yes, I hadn't heard this one before," Steve replied, eyes closed as he was still focusing on the music. "He seems to have just gotten better with time."

"Is he one of your favorites?"

"Yes,' he said with a chuckle. "I couldn't afford the records but I had all the bands signature pieces memorized. "Take the 'A' Train" was Ellington's and I remember watching the dance floor fill up every time it was played."

"Did you not join them in dancing?" Friday asked.

"Never learned how,' he admitted. "Nobody wanted to dance with a guy they could step on. I did like to watch though."

"Perhaps you can take lessons now, Captain Rogers,' Friday suggested.

His eyes snapped open, as the spell was broken the moment he heard Captain Rogers. He'd been enjoying the music so much he forgot who he was talking too. 'Captain Rogers' reminded him that it was Friday.

"Ah, well, um, perhaps I might,' he finally said, getting up and turning off the record. He stood for a moment, not sure what to say and finally just grabbed his coat and went out the door.

"Captain Rogers, have I done something to upset you?" Friday asked.

Steve had one hand on the door, ready to bolt, but a question had been asked and manners demanded it be answered.

"No, um, Friday, no you haven't."

"You show all the signs of being upset, Captain Rogers,' Friday countered. "You did not a moment ago before I spoke to you. It is a pattern I have noticed in your behavior. If I have made a mistake, please tell me what it is and I will correct it."

"It's not you, Friday,' Steve replied, again ready to exit the apartment.

"Then would you please tell me what it is, Captain?"

He stood there for a moment. Friday to his understanding was a machine, yet somehow he felt he owed her the truth. The word please always had an effect on him. Maybe because she was a machine he could tell her what he hadn't been willing to admit to anyone else.

"The thing is I'm already sort of haunted by ghosts, Friday,' he said with a sad smile. 'A disembodied voice talking to me just hits a little too close to home right now. Again, that one is on me. Sorry."

He dipped his head and slipped out the door.

* * *

After Steve left, Friday repeatedly went over and analyzed this last encounter along with the catalog of their other interactions. Her instructions from the boss, Tony Stark, had been vague at best, "Help him." Those parameters left a lot of leeway, yet without specific commands or instructions there was no logical, planned route to accomplish this goal. The Boss, Tony, had simply left it up to Friday to figure out a solution. His template for this assumption was Jarvis, the masterpiece of his engineering virtuosity. Friday, though wasn't exactly like Jarvis, she was something else.

At a young age, it was obvious to everyone that Tony Stark was brilliant. As the child of a talented, yet distant father and emotionally troubled mother, though, it had left him troubled and lonely like a lot of young people his age. The difference between most of them and Tony was he had almost unlimited resources, talent and determination to try and fix it himself. If he didn't have a caregiver in his life, he'd create one. While at MIT he'd been fascinated by IBM's Big Blue project. He got the idea to create an Artificial Intelligence of his own.

At first his early efforts achieved Virtual Intelligence, a program that could mimic the behavior of life, but ultimately wasn't self aware or capable of abstract thought. Tinkering with it on and off for in those early years he finally hit on Jarvis, a true Artificial Intelligence that was self aware and could make critical decisions and judgment calls in a similar manner to an intelligent organic life form. With Jarvis he got what he wanted. Because Tony had a rather active mind, he moved on to numerous other projects and ideas. Over the years of his twenties he would make other attempts at AIs, trying different strategies and concepts but never deployed any of them for very long because he'd grown fond of Jarvis.

One of those later attempts lead to Friday. It was an endeavor at something a little different from Jarvis. Tony had become interested in something called Cognitive Systems. Those are systems that are aware of themselves, interact with their surroundings and learn new things over time. Cognitive systems employ technologies from artificial intelligence and machine learning, so they are in some ways "more" than AI. He would incorporate the parts he liked into Jarvis, but Friday had been the first successful attempt. Of course being Tony Stark, his mind wandered to other things and the project was shelved.

Before he had transferred running the company to Pepper though, he'd used Friday as his secretary for a short time. It cut down on the lawsuits. The parameters of the jobs were well defined. There was even a manual detailing exactly what the job entailed and Friday excelled in it. Then came the whole Afghanistan incident and Tony finally found the thing he wanted to do with his life, Iron Man. Stepping away from the day to day business of Stark Industries, he had no need for a secretary anymore as Jarvis could handle his diminished professional calendar just as he did the rest of Tony's life.

So in effect Tony had sent a cognitive system, capable of awareness, able to interact with its surroundings and that could learn and adapt to the situation to Steve Rogers. In essence Friday had been tasked with figuring out a solution to a problem that was ill defined and given no guidance on how to solve it. Friday was on 'her' own. The first obstacle it seemed was getting the Captain to interact with her. There seemed to be a rather straightforward solution to that. Friday again scanned Captain Rogers' file for a suitable avatar to accomplish it.

* * *

SHIELD Headquarters

The building had several gyms, both large and small in size, used for a variety of training. The larger gyms were mostly used for new recruit training, as all agents regardless of their eventual positions or expertise were given basic training in self-defense and combat. The group currently being trained was mostly non-combatants, techs and administration. Unfortunately for them, two STRIKE team members had decided to 'help' out with the training today. They had buffaloed their way passed the real instructor and basically took over the class. Rumlow and Rollins were between missions and a little bored. That was never a good combination and today's entertainment to keep busy was hazing the newbies.

Natasha stood on the elevated track that circled the large gym. It had been closed off for repairs and there was scaffolding from the track to the ceiling far above. Signs were posted at each entrance announcing the area was close and under construction. That really hadn't stopped her. She was alone and the lights were off as she went through various stretches to warm up. There was a series of scaffolding she was interested in testing her skills against. Since Clint had left, Natasha found herself spending more time at SHIELD. Oh, she had interests outside of work, but those were private. Natasha had thrown off her Red Room training, but she was still guarded around most people. She wasn't exactly close with many in or out of SHIELD, but she was friendly to a degree with most.

This was familiar, training and honing her skills over and over. Maria Hill was supposed to stop by in a little while to discuss a new mission, but until then Natasha figured she would get in some practice. Those below weren't aware of her and she wanted to keep it that way. She usually paid little attention to what was happening in the beginners' class in the main part of the gym, but two things caught her attention. One was Rumlow and Rollins. They were good agents and fighters, but Natasha had never cared for them. While she agreed training should be difficult, what they were doing seemed pointless. Even in the Red Room, as cruel and dehumanizing as it was, actions had a reason behind them. Rumlow and Rollins were just punching down, something Natasha never liked.

The other thing that caught her interest was at the other end of the gymnasium, Captain Rogers. He was alone, with his back to the training group, working on the heavy bag. He seemed in a world of his own, tuning out everything else around him. They had fought together in New York. She of course, had read his file. While she hadn't grown up hearing the legend of Captain America, she was aware of part of his story, the Super Soldier serum. She had a version of it coursing through her body. It had been the fascination of many countries and groups since WWII, but so far no one had replicated it perfectly.

Stretching again, Natasha glanced at Rogers and had to wonder what it must be like wake up one morning and have missed 70 years. How lost must he be? Pushing this thought from her mind, Natasha launched herself upwards, grabbing one of the support crossbeams and swinging higher into the structure and darkness. Except for the groan of the scaffolding poles, her movements were silent and deadly precise.

The sound of someone hitting the mats hard caught her attention as she continued to climb higher and higher. She stopped a short way from the roof and looked down from her vantage point at the training group. The original instructor was trying to get control of the group, but Rumlow and Rollins continued to just blow him off and take charge. Their idea of training was having the new recruits spar with them, or in other words, the two of them beating up the entire class two at a time. They seemed to especially enjoy picking on two of the recruits from the tech departments, a young man and young woman. They had them pair up and try and take on Rumlow and Rollins. Again and again the two recruits were driven into the mats. Rumlow and Rollins seemed to love it, basically humiliating the recruits. Each time the recruits tried to beg off, they would shout at them to get up and go again.

Natasha had watched plenty and was just about to break off her acrobatics and go down to end it, when a voice called out across the gym.

"That's enough."

She along with everyone in the class turned towards the voice. Rogers had stopped hitting the heavy bag and was now facing the group. Natasha balanced herself on a one inch horizontal pole and that bowed but didn't give way, trying to anticipate what was going to happen. She already knew how she would handle the situation, but Rogers was supposed to be some great tactician, so this would give her some insight into him.

"What did you say?" Rollins asked with a sneer on his face.

"I said that's enough,' Rogers repeated, slowly moving towards the group.

Rumlow and Rollins looked at each other. A smile crossed both their lips as they turned to face Rogers. Natasha had moved to the railing to get a better view of what was happening. Rogers wiped the sweat off his brow as he made his way over to the group. She could see Rumlow and Rollins along with the entire group of recruits knew who he was.

"You're not an agent yet, Rogers, you can't order us around,' Rollins said.

"I don't need to be an agent to know a bully when I see one,' he replied.

Rollins started to step towards Steve, his hands balled up in fists, but Rumlow stretched out an arm to stop him. He smiled at Steve, but Natasha knew he was just like Rollins, just a little more polished about it.

"All new recruits go through a little hazing, Rogers," Rumlow said with a smile. "My friend is right though, you're not official part of SHIELD yet, so this really isn't your business. Just go back to your punching bag, you have no authority here and we do."

Listening to all of it from above, Natasha kept watch on the situation. She'd seen Rogers in action in New York, so she knew he could easily take the two down. His next move, though, surprised her. Rogers smiled and then looked at the new recruits, who were all watching him. He turned back to Rumlow and Rollins.

"You're right, I'm not an official agent yet, so I guess that makes me a new recruit too," Steve said. He took a step so he was between Rumlow and Rollins and the recruits. "How about you try me for you little exercise?"

Rumlow and Rollins exchanged looks. It was clear to Natasha Rollins wanted to go at Rogers, but Rumlow had other ideas.

"This is a teamwork exercise, two people,' Rumlow said.

"Then pick out a partner for me,' Steve replied, taking a step closer.

"Give him the spazzes," Rollins dismissively said. Rumlow smiled and the laughed as he pointed to the two recruits they had already been torturing.

"Those two can be your partners, Rogers,' he said. "Whichever team pins one of the other team for a count of three first wins. Got it?"

"Got it,' Steve replied. "So what are the rules?"

"No rules,' Rollins said with a cruel smile. "We're doing battlefield conditions, so the aim is to win. Maybe you can try some of those antique moves you have from the olden days."

Steve nodded at this.

"Maybe. Let me just have a word with my teammates and we can get started,' he offered with a smile. He turned and walked over to where the new recruits were and spoke to them in low tones. Natasha couldn't hear what he was saying, but from the reaction of the group, both shock and amazement, it must have been something interesting. She moved silently closer to the end of the scaffolding to get a better view. The whole group seemed to be trying to hide smiles, as Rogers and the two recruits stepped up to face Rumlow and Rollins. He stood in the middle, the new recruits flanking him. They seemed nervous and didn't look at Rollins and Rumlow.

"So when do you want to start?" Steve asked.

"Whenever you're ready, just say go,' Rumlow replied with a smile.

"Go."

As soon as the word left Rogers mouth, the two recruits swung their legs and kicked Rumlow and Rollins in the balls. Both men gasped in pain and shock, but before they could do anything, Steve picked them both up by the neck and slammed them both to the mat. The two recruits stumbled, but moved over to sit on top of Rumlow and Rollins.

"One, Two, Three, we win,' Steve said, holding the two to the mat. He looked over at the actual training officer. "I think that's enough for today, don't you?"

The instructor nodded with a smile and then dismissed the class. Rogers released Rumlow and Rollins and the two recruits got off them. The whole group seemed to gravitate towards Rogers, laughing with excitement. The two recruits talked rapidly and animatedly with the others, while staying near Rogers. He just smiled and nodded as they talked.

Natasha found herself smiling. She wondered if Rogers even realized he'd just won over all the new recruits as well as the instructor. As she watched them circle around him, she couldn't help wondering what he'd said to the group.

The door onto the track open and Maria Hill walked in. She glanced up towards Natasha and then down at the gym.

"What's that all about?" She asked, as Natasha made her way effortlessly down the scaffolding to stand next to her.

"Rogers," Natasha replied. "He's ready."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?"

Washington, D.C.

The prospect of heading back it his apartment for another meal alone held little appeal to Steve, so after just riding around the Capital for a while he ended up at Ben's Chili Bowl. The menu seemed simple and straight forward, spicy hot dogs, chili-cheese fries & milkshakes. Steve figured if he kept his head down and just stuck to what he knew everything would be okay. He went with the chilidogs, 6 of them, a large chili-cheese fry and an extra large chocolate milkshake. He sat at the counter, instead of alone in a booth or table. The waitress flirted a little with him, commenting on his healthy appetite. He shrugged and offered that he was still a growing boy.

"Yes you are,' she replied, with a rather suggestive smile on her face.

He was pretty sure he was blushing now.

Steve did his best to smile, before looking down at his food and continuing to eat. That was something he was still getting used to, people, especially women being much more forward then they used to be. It was just one of many little things he was struggling with. Another was the way swearing had just become a regular part of conversation shocked him. It wasn't as if he hadn't heard the words or even used them himself, but the way people just casually dropped "fuck' or "shit" into every conversation regardless of who they were talking to. He'd been raised to believe that showed a lack of education and vocabulary, that you couldn't find an alternative word or phrase. Steve guessed that sort of thinking just made him sound like an old man talking about how things were back in his day.

Then there were the tattoos. He remembered the only people that used to have tattoos were sailors and burlesque performers. Now it seemed everyone had at least one tattoo. He'd read a statistic that of women under the age of 35 over 47 percent had tattoos, while women over 35 the number was only 7 percent. Steve couldn't help wondering what happened 35 years ago that caused everything to change? Why was there such a huge dividing line at the age of 35? Just another of the countless questions he had about this new age, it seemed, where he wasn't sure who to ask for an answer.

He could hear the stir behind him as he finished off his final hotdog. The whispers of "Captain America" seemed to spread through the diner. They thought they were being quiet but he always heard them. It seemed in the 70 years he'd been gone a whole mythology had grown up around him and his exploits. One of the agents at SHIELD had mentioned there was an exhibit at the Smithsonian about him and Steve hadn't believed it at first. He knew he'd been somewhat famous during his war bond tours but the idea of him being in a museum seemed ridiculous. He'd been a soldier like millions of others fighting for his country, that's all. Museums were for paintings or sculptures.

He felt them move closer behind him.

"Captain America?" One of them asked and a nervous giggle going up among the rest. This had been happening a lot since New York. Slowly he turned and smiled at the group of young women standing there. They were all in their twenties and had their phones out. Yes, he noticed, that all had tattoos.

"Yes?" He replied with a smile.

'How about a picture?"

"Of course."

This was another new thing he was still trying to get used to. People rarely used the word please anymore and when people said picture, they actually meant a picture of themselves with him. Selfies they were called. Why you'd want to constantly take pictures of yourself, Steve had no clue. It seemed a little narcissistic to him but he went with it and smiled for their pictures. The other part he found a bit unsettling was how complete strangers seemed to have no problem invading his personal space. It was a forced familiarity where they almost didn't see him as a person, just a thing to pose with like a statue or poster back at Coney Island. Steve put up with it for longer than he wanted to and then quickly finished his shake and with a smile slipped out.

* * *

Malibu

The darkness of the Pacific seemed to stretch out forever and even the multitude of stars in the heavens did little to change that as they were so far away. Not as far away as they once were for Tony Stark, not after New York. Pepper hadn't spent the night, saying she had an early meeting. That was probably for the best as Tony was currently holding onto the terrace railing trying to stop the shaking. He was sweating even though it was a mild night. The shortness of breath only seemed to add to this. He didn't want Pepper to see him like this. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, but he especially didn't want Pepper to see.

Twenty minutes earlier he'd been in bed, sleeping when the dreams or nightmares depending on your point of view, started. It was the same since New York, always a variation of what he'd seen on the other side of the wormhole. Before it had always been something of a belief that humans weren't alone. Even with the appearance of Thor it still felt like an abstract idea. What Tony saw on the other side of the wormhole changed belief into fact.

He couldn't shake the feeling that they had all been incredibly lucky that day. A random act beyond their and his control, the government firing a nuke at New York, had been the thing that really turned the tide. If the government had waited, would the Avengers have been able to win the battle? The truth was Tony didn't know, but doubted it. They got lucky. That raised the question would they be as lucky the next time someone from out there came calling? Unfortunately, Tony had done the math repeatedly in his head and the odds weren't on their side. This along with the fact that he'd been the only one to see what was on the other side of that wormhole made him feel an extra responsibility to do something about it all. He just wasn't sure what that was yet.

As his breathing slowed down and the shaking seemed to abate, he knew going back to sleep was out of the question. Looking up at those stars, which used to seem so far away, Tony felt they were getting closer all the time. He needed to work, to do something to prepare. He couldn't count on lucky the next time.

* * *

Washington, DC

Steve parked his motorcycle around the side of the building and headed up to the apartment SHIELD gave him. He hadn't met most of his neighbors, still trying to get used to a new place, city and time. Steve figured some of them must be SHIELD agents assigned to watch him, but he hadn't really worried about it so far. He caught a glimpse of a young pretty blonde woman carrying a laundry basket of clothes going into one of the apartments on his floor but hadn't spoke to her. He wasn't even sure what he would say if they did meet.

Opening his door, Steve took off his jacket and hung it on a hook in the entranceway. He was thinking about grabbing a Coke as he walked into the main room.

"Good evening, Captain Rogers."

"Oh, jeez,' Steve gasped, taking a step back as Friday surprised him. "Um, evening, Friday."

"I was hoping you could do me a favorite, Captain Roger,' Friday said.

That caught him off guard. Did computers even need favors?

"All-All right,' he managed to get out.

"In the box three feet to your left are four emitters, would you be so kind as to set one in each corner of this main room?"

"Um, okay,' Steve replied. He had no idea what this was about, but figured he'd go along with it. Friday guided him through the set up of each emitter. As he finished the last one, Steve turned to ask what was next. He got the shock of his life. Standing in front of him was Peggy, just as he'd seen her the last time.

"God Almighty," he gasped, stumbling back against the couch. "P-Peg-Peggy?"

"No, Captain Rogers, it is still, me, Friday,' she replied. "You said it was difficult for you to speak to a disembodied voice, so I thought of this alternative."

"By appearing as Peggy?" Steve gasped, his heart pounding in his chest. This was both his dream and nightmare. He'd thought about seeing her again so many times since he'd come out of the ice, just like she appeared before him now. It wasn't her, though, that was seventy years ago.

"I went through your file, Captain Rogers,' Friday explained. "I thought a familiar image would help with your adjustment. From the records Margaret Carter and you were close in the past. I believe the saying is, seeing a friendly face."

"Please, not her,' Steve managed to chock out, as it was getting harder to breath and his heart felt like it would explode in his chest. "Not Peggy, please."

"This appearance distress you,' Friday replied. "I'm monitoring elevated heart and breathing rates. I will change immediately, Captain, I did not think this image would have this effect on you."

Before Steve could reply, Friday change appearance. Steve's mouth fell open in shock.

"Mom?"

"Is this better, Captain Rogers?" Friday asked.

"No. Absolutely not."

"How about this one?" Friday asked, changing appearances again.

"Definitely no,' Steve replied, the image of Bucky now standing in front of him. He slowly slipped down to the couch. "Friday, no one from my past, please."

"As you wish, Captain." Friday said. "I will pick a more contemporary image."

"Thank you."

Friday took a moment to consider the options and the first one came automatically.

"Better, Captain?"

"God no,' he replied, now looking at the image of Tony Stark standing before him. One of him was more than enough.

Friday shifted into Pepper Potts and then into Natasha Romanoff before Steve finally stopped her.

'Friday, Friday, I appreciate what you're doing, but I hardly know these people and I don't feel right having you, um, impersonate them like this,' Steve said. "I'm pretty sure Agent Romanoff, who I've met once, would not appreciate this, not would Miss Potts. I'm not sure how I would explain it if they ever found out. Can't you just be you, or pick who you want to be, please?"

Steve dropped his head into his hands as he tried to get his emotions back in check. Friday had to consider his request for a moment. The option of picking who she wanted to be had never been one she considered before. The parameters and dynamics of her interface had been created and set by another. Everything down to the slight Irish lilt to her voice had been built in from the start. What did it mean for her to be who she wanted to be? That directive was even more vague than the Boss's instruction to "help" the Captain. There were an infinite array of combinations and choice that could be made. Picking one among all of them seemed an almost impossible task.

All this happened in the blink of an eye, as Friday processed through all of it. She went with a default in the end. When she had been Tony Stark's secretary, however briefly, the parameters of her "Girl Friday" persona had been set. Make a few minor tweaks to this basic appearance, she settled into a working model.

"Is this better, Captain Rogers?" She asked.

Steve warily looked up, trying to prepare himself for some other ghost from his past. Standing before him was an attractive young woman that didn't look like anyone he knew. He hair was blonde, cut shorter on the sides and back and growing longer as it swept along her high cheekbones. She was probably five seven in height, trim and athletically build similar to what Steve would guess was close to a swimmer's build. A tan knee length skirt, cream blouse and modest one-inch heels completed her ensemble. She looked very professional and modern to his eyes,

"Captain?"

"Oh, yes, um, much better, Friday,' he managed to say. "Thank you."

He reached towards her hand to thank her, but his fingers passed right through.

"I'm a hologram, Captain,' Friday stated.

"A hologram?"

" A hologram is an image made with a laser beam, in which the objects shown look like they have depth rather than appearing flat and can seem to move. "

"So an illusion?"

"That is a simplification, Captain, but in essence, yes,' Friday replied.

"I see."

"Is this not better than the disembodied voice that seemed to trouble you so much, Captain?" Friday asked.

"Yes, Friday, yes, it is, thank you,' Steve said with a sad smile. He did appreciate the effort, but had to wonder if this was what this new life had become? He was having a discussion with the illusion of a person.

* * *

The Gulf of Aden– 2 days later

It was Steve's first official mission for SHIELD. Deputy Director Maria Hill had called him earlier in the day. The next few hours were a rush of activity. Somali pirates had commandeered an aid ship in the Gulf of Aden. They were making demands, but SHIELD had been called in to pacify the situation. Steve had to admit the idea of pirates seemed from another time, but so was he so he'd would do his part. Arriving at headquarters he was introduced the team. Agent Romanoff was nominally in charge of the mission and would be securing the bridge, while the STRIKE team would deal with the pirates. Steve was back up. It was his first mission for SHIELD so he would do what he was asked, while trying to get up to speed with how the team operated.

Rumlow and Rollins were both there and Steve did his best to reach out to them. They didn't seem that interested, but said the incident in the gym was the past. He was introduced to all the team members, but after that he basically sat and waited for the plane to get them in position.

Natasha was at the controls and there was another pilot ready to take over once they arrived. While she'd worked with them before, she wasn't part of the STRIKE team. Clint and her usually worked as a team, but she could adapt to almost any situation. She felt the absence of Clint on the long flight. She wasn't really close with any of the team members. It seemed her reputation preceded her and they were always on edge around her. She'd been dealing with this since she came to SHIELD. Natasha wasn't the most open person, but usually Clint was there for her.

About half way there she realized the tension on the mission wasn't directed at her, but at Rogers. She glanced back and saw him sitting quietly by himself. The STRIKE team would whisper to each other about him, thinking he couldn't hear them. Natasha knew that was just stupid, as he had enhanced hearing along with all the other gifts from the Super Soldier Serum. They all wondered how a man from the forties would handle himself. Natasha had firsthand experience and knew he would hold his own. To her it seemed like a waste to use him only as back up but Fury thought it was best for his first mission. She would follow orders though.

"Twenty minutes out,' she announced, before handing the controls over to the co-pilot. She moved back to the staging area where the team was going over the plan one more time. As she listened to Rumlow lay out the STRIKE team's part of the plan, she suddenly felt Rogers standing next to her.

"Ma'am,' he said politely.

"Captain."

This felt familiar to Steve. The preparations for a mission, going over the latest intelligence and planning out a strategy. He'd done it hundreds of times during the war. Yes the toys were much more advanced, but the basics never changed.

"So latest satellite images show that most of the hostages are being held back here in one room, with only two guards." Rumlow explained. "Widow is going to take care of the bridge, free the UN observers and the captain, while we take out the pirates. Rogers you stay on the quinjet and keep an eye on the situation. If one of the pirates gets by us and moves towards the hostages you are to move in."

"That won't happen,' Rollins added, turning towards Steve. "Just so you know."

"Right." Steve replied.

"Shock and Awe, gentleman and ladies,' Rumlow said with a smile. "We neutralize any resistance and wrap this up quick. No mistakes."

The quinjet switched into stealth mode. Everyone began to move and the cargo bay down opened. Steve stood back and watched as Romanoff jumped first and the others followed. He moved towards the opening to watch their descent. With his enhanced eyesight he could see the whole situation clearly. Natasha landed firstly silently and immediately started towards the bridge. The STRIKE team immediately shot the two pirates guarding the hostages. They began to fan out and move over the ship. The sound of gunfire seemed to explode all over the ship. From the sound of it, Steve could tell it was almost all from the STRIKE team. He suddenly understood what they meant by neutralize any resistance.

The gunfire continued for several minutes. As Steve watched one of the hatches opened and someone climbed out and started running towards the back of the ship. It wasn't one of the team, so immediately he moved into action, jumping out the cargo bay door and dropping down to the deck of the ship. As he looked up after landing he got his first close up look at the pirates. The man was wearing rags and seemed rail thin. He had a wide-eyed look of terror as he kept running towards the back and side of the ship. He glanced back at the front of the ship and when one of the doors opened he dropped his gun.

One of the STRIKE team members, a man named Johnson stepped out from the door and raised his weapon, his sight on the fleeing pirate. Just before he pulled he trigger, Johnson smiled and Steve saw it clear as day. He was enjoying this. In the next moment, Steve's shield was flying through the air. It impacted just behind the pirate, knocking him down and out, but blocking the kill shot Johnson fired.

'What the fuck?" Johnson shouted, quickly glancing around and finally spying Steve walking towards the unconscious pirate. "I had him! I had him all lined up for the take down!"

"Yeah, I saw,' Steve replied. He didn't look back at Johnson as he moved over and checked the pirate. The man was out, but alive. He would get his chance to face justice in a court of law.

The next twenty minutes was a bit of a blur. The hostages were released and the local navy was contacted to escort the ship to its destination. The only pirates alive were the one Steve took down and two from the bridge that Romanoff incapacitated. The STRIKE team was all smiles as they all got back on the quinjet. They were boasting about the success of the mission, clapping each other on the back and talking animatedly. Steve had seen the bodies of the pirates and they all looked in similar shape as the one he'd stopped. He recognized their weapons, too, old surplus rifles from back in the day. He didn't say anything on the ride back, just sat and went over what had just happened.

When they landed the others were still talking about their 'victory' as they exited the plane. He stood by the open cargo door and watched them. An old quote from a poem he'd learned in school came to him.

"Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?" The words softly slipped from his lips.

"Alexander Pope," a voice said behind him.

Steve turned to see Romanoff standing looking at him.

"Um, yeah, it is,' he offered.

"The mission was a success, Captain, you should be celebrating with the others,' she said.

"It doesn't feel like there's anything to celebrate, ma'am,' he replied.

"They're a little heavy handed, but they got the job done' she said, glancing at the retreating team. She looked back at Steve. "You have some objection?"

"Shooting unarmed people running away, even pirates doesn't seem much like justice to me," he replied. "I'm not going to celebrate with those that think it is."

"I've shot people in the back, Rogers,' she defiantly stated, challenging him directly.

"Did you enjoy it?" He asked.

His question caught her off guard.

"No," She admitted. "I did what was necessary, enjoyment played no part of it."

"That's what makes you different from them, ma'am, they did it with a smile."

He held her eyes for a moment and then turned and walked off the quinjet. Natasha just stood watching him go.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Coming Home

Washington – SHIELD cafeteria

Natasha had finished up a full workout along with a long session on the practice range. She found herself lingering around headquarters a bit instead of heading back to her apartment. She thought of going out for the night, but that prospect seemed to hold diminishing appeal to her lately. New York had raised her profile, but thankfully there were no clear images of her. That didn't stop the media from speculating or even publishing wild stories about who she might be. All that attention went against Natasha's training and personality, she was very much a private person.

Going out wasn't really difficult for her. She was a beautiful young woman, so garnering attention had never been a problem. Depending on the circumstance and her objectives, Natasha could be anyone depending on the situation, the femme fatale, the girl next door or even the awkward, yet cute nerd girl that seemed just right to whoever she was with. It was something she been trained to do from an early age, but Natasha did so much of that for work she had grown bored with doing that in her private life.

It also might have something to do with Clint being an A-hole and calling her out on it every time they went out together. He really was a shitty wingman when you got right down to it, she thought. She had the normal desires and urges that everyone else had, she just kept them more in control. It was just how she was, but some times she just wanted to get laid and putting on a persona seemed like the fastest way to achieve that goal. She wasn't looking for a relationship, she didn't do relationships, but every once and a while, she got that itch and wanted to scratch it, just like everyone else. If she had to pretend to be interested in handsome, yet complete douchebag, Bob the congressional aid to do it, well it was one night and just the cost of getting what she wanted.

Only the pretending was getting harder and harder. Summoning the interested just wasn't there outside of work. Lately if the choice was between pretending or staying at home with a bottle of wine and Netflix, the bottle of wine and Netflix was winning out. It wasn't like she could actually be whom she really was when she went out. She could just imagine how that would go.

" _Hi, I'm Bob, I work up on the hill, what do you do for a living?'_

" _Hi, Bob. I'm Natasha, I'm a spy and I've murdered a lot of people, well mostly in the past, really, but on a pretty regular basis, along with a whole host of really nasty, sketchy shit that if I told you anything about it, you'd crap your pants and I'd also have to kill you. Oh, I'm the Black Widow; by the way, maybe you've heard of me? So do you come here often?"_

Yeah, that wasn't going to fly.

If the bar didn't clear out immediately, she was sure Fury, as well as the Council would go apeshit when they heard about it. Yes, the general public wasn't sure how she looked, but the name Black Widow had caught the media and public's fancy. It really was surprising that with all the technology today, no one had snapped a picture of her or Clint. Then again, they worked for a huge international spy agency, so it probably wasn't that surprising. It would be just like Fury not to want his two best agents exposed to the world.

As she topped off her travel mug, Natasha glanced around the room. She knew most of the people and out of habit scanned them for weaknesses and threat levels. She knew every possible exit, as well as most of the agents' tendencies. If she had to she could probably even come up with some personal tidbit about each of them, but that's as far as it went. Natasha also knew most of them were scared shitless of her, which had its pluses and minuses. It engendered a healthy respect for her and her abilities, but also kept everyone at arms length. Usually that was okay, but it did tend to isolate her.

Natasha glanced at the exit, just as Maria Hill came storming into the room and made a beeline to the table the STRIKE team was at. This should be interesting she thought, delaying her plans to leave to watch this play out.

Maria stopped right in front of them and tossed a fistful of mission reports down on their table.

"Do you want to explain what this bullshit is, agents?" She demanded. Her usual control was still in place, but the anger was clear in her eyes.

"What's the problem, Hill?" Rollins asked, with a smirk.

"That's Assistant Director Hill to you, Rollins,' she replied. "The problem is I want to know what the fuck you all were doing on a mission to rescue the hostages from the pirates? You killed 22 out of the 25 pirates!"

"What did Rogers get his nose our or joint and report us?' Rollins grumbled. "Is that what this is about?"

"Rogers? What are you talking about? He hasn't even filed a report yet, you idiot,' Maria replied. "I can read and count, Rollins!"

"We neutralized the threats and the hostages are safe,' Rumlow said. "It was a successful mission in my book."

"Really?" she said, turning to face him. "If it was so successful, tell me how did the pirates know about that ship? How did they happen to be in the exact right place and at exactly the right time to take it?"

Neither man had an answer for her question.

"That might be something say an _Intelligence_ organization might like to know, don't you think?" She asked. "Oh, wait, SHIELD is an intelligence agency, which you imbeciles work for! SHIELD might want to question those pirates to find out who tipped them off to the ship's travel schedule and to find out if they were working alone or with someone else. Unfortunately, you killed all of them so we can't question them, can we?"

"Rogers saved one,' Rumlow offered. "And Widow didn't kill two. Can't you question them?"

"Are they the ringleaders?" Maria pointedly asked.

"I don't know."

"That's right, you don't,' she replied. 'You didn't even think about it when you went in guns blazing! Fuck, you idiots screwed this up! Rogers was on his first mission and backup, yet he managed to do what you supposed veterans didn't! Screw up again and I will personally make sure your team gets disbanded and assigned to guard duty at the shitiest SHIELD office I can find! Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," they both said.

Maria looked at them one more time before shaking her head and storming back out of the room.

"Idiots,' she muttered as she left.

* * *

Washington DC

Friday stood hovering over Steve as he tried to figure out the computer Stark gave him so he could type out his report. He really had no clue how to use one, so trying to figure it out at SHIELD headquarters with all those people around would be a nightmare. He knew they would try and be helpful, but he didn't want to feed into the image of a clueless imbecile hopelessly lost in time whenever he tried to understand some new thing or change. He already got more then enough of those looks from nearly everyone when he tried asking about basic things he'd been wondering about.

There had been the hat debacle as one of the most recent incidents. Since he woke up he couldn't help noticing people didn't wear hats anymore. Hats were so ubiquitous when he'd grown up and it was just second nature to have one. All the biggest stars, Clark Gable and Gary Cooper wore hats. Carole Lombard and Rita Hayworth were famous for the stylish hats they used to wear. It was even a little more surprising how few women wore hats anymore. He remembered when an Easter bonnet was an actually thing, not just a song. There was also been swank Milliners and Haberdashers all around New York. Now it seemed everyone wore baseball caps of some sort. When did that happen, he couldn't help wondering? When did people stop wearing a hat when they dressed up? For that matter, when did people stop dressing up? Even as a kid he'd worn a tweed cap. Steve fondly remembered Bucky being so proud of the fedora he wore on one of the double dates he kept dragging Steve on.

"Captain Rogers?"

"Oh, um, ah, yes, Friday, um, where were we?"

He had to stop doing that, he told himself. All the questions he had about the present seemed to trigger memories of what was now the long ago past. The memories didn't feel that long ago to him, but it would be so easy to get lost in them.

"We could delay this if you want, Captain,' Friday suggested. "As I said earlier, you could just tell me what you want to say and I could transcript it for you. I could even transfer it over to SHIELD. It would really be no trouble."

"Thank you, but no, Friday,' Steve replied. "I'm going to have to learn all of this one way or the other, so you doing my work for me seems like cheating."

"As you wish, Captain."

"I know this is probably mind numbingly slow for you, Friday as well as tedious, but I do appreciate you walking me through it all."

"You are most welcome, Captain, Friday replied, still standing over his right shoulder. "As for being worried about my being bored, do not be. I can multitask, so please take as long as you need."

"Thanks again," Steve said with a smile. "So what's next?"

"Well, you have mastered turning on the computer and seem to have a grasp of the track pad, so now you need to open a Word document,' Friday patiently explained.

"Why is it called that?"

"Why is what called that, Captain?" Friday inquired.

"Why is it called a word document,' Steve replied. "Isn't it just a document?"

"We will be created it in a program called Microsoft Word, thus it has always been referred to as a Word document."

"Okay,' Steve nodded. "That's part of what you were telling me about, Microsoft Office right?"

"Yes, Microsoft Office is a suite of eleven applications, though some editions do not include all of them. These are: Access, Excel, InfoPath, OneNote, Outlook, PowerPoint, Project, Lync, Publisher, Visio and Word,' Friday explained.

"God, I'm never going to figure all those out,' Steve groaned.

"Most people do not 'figure' most of them, Captain, you should not worry,' Friday replied. "Once you master Word, if you can do a little in Excel and PowerPoint, you'll be ahead of most people. Now just click on the icon for Word and we will start a new document, yes, that is correct, I'm glad to see you remembered the icons, Captain."

Steve felt like he'd just been patted on the head, but he knew Friday was just trying to help him. He let it go and was just about to ask what to do with the dozen options on the screen when there was a knock at the door.

"Do you know who it is?" Steve asked.

"I do not,' Friday replied.

"I guess I should answer it,' Steve mused aloud. "I didn't think anyone knew I lived here. I wonder who it could be. It's not Stark is it?"

"Mr. Stark is currently in California, so no, Captain."

"It wouldn't be Miss Potts, we only met once and that was with Tony," Steve pondered. "I don't think anyone else has been to my apartment or even knew about it."

The knock came again.

"Perhaps if you answer it, you can solve the puzzle of who it is,' Friday suggested.

Steve just looked at her calm, smiling face for a moment.

"Sarcasm? I guess you are related to Tony Stark,' Steve joked as he stood and moved towards the door.

"Must be a family trait,' Friday replied.

Steve laughed as he reached the door and opened it. Standing in front of him, her fist ready to knock again was the attractive, young blond from down the hall.

"Oh, hi, I was afraid no one was home,' she said, smiling as she lowered her fist and opened her fingers. "I'm Kate, from down the hall.'

"Steve,' he replied, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you, Kate."

"I've been meaning to stop by but work and everything, you know,' she said. "I was hoping you could do me a favor?"

"Um, if I can."

"I'm not interrupting anything am I?" She asked.

"No, I was just talking …,' Steve started say as he turned to introduce Friday, but she was gone. He glanced around the entire room, but nothing. "Um, talking-typing to the computer. Having trouble with it."

"Oh, I know, right, I swear every time I try and download a MP3 or MP4, the Wi-Fi cuts out on me,' she said with a laugh. "I think it has it in for me and my obsession with slasher films and prog rock."

Steve understood nothing she had just said.

"I was trying to type a letter," Steve weakly offered. They stood just looking at each other for a moment.

"So, um, ah, you mentioned a favor,'' Steve finally said.

"Oh, right, I was wondering if you had some quarters?" Kate asked. "I was doing some laundry and ran out."

"Yeah, sure, come in,' Steve said, finally on some solid ground in the conversation. "You sure do a lot of laundry. I mean, I've noticed you with a laundry basket several times when I was coming in or going out. I wasn't stalking you or anything, really, I just noticed."

Stalking was a word Steve had picked up at a seminar at SHIELD.

"I certainly hope not," she laughed. "I'm an ER nurse down at the hospital. If you don't get the blood out right away it tends to stain."

"Yeah, it does,' he replied. Again they stood looking at each other for what seemed like a long time.

"Quarters, quarters, I'm sure I have some over here,' Steve managed to say, hoping he wasn't coming off like an idiot. He glanced around again for Friday, but she had vanished into thin air like Houdini. He reached the tray of spare changed he kept and started picking out quarters.

"How many do you need?" He asked.

"I'll take all you got,' Kate said with a smile.

Steve nodded and turned back to sorting out the change. It took a moment or two.

"Okay, I've got 8 dollars and 25 cents in quarters,' he pronounced, holding a handful out to her.

"You're a life saver, here's a ten and thank you again,' she said, holding out the money for him.

Two sides were at war within Steve at the moment. He'd been raised during the Depression and money had always been tight. He could remember counting out pennies to figure out if they'd have something for dinner that night. So giving away money was just something he rarely did. On the other hand, a gentleman would kindly refuse to take a young woman's money. Should he be practical and take the money or chivalrous and refuse. The thing was Kate was a beautiful young woman from a different time than him. He didn't know if she'd be offended if he took the money. Maybe she'd be offended if he didn't take it, thinking he thought she couldn't afford it and he was being patronizing. He had sat through several sexual harassment seminars when he first got to SHIELD, so he wasn't sure what was the right thing to do. It was in those seminars he'd picked up the word stalking. Why did Friday have to disappear, he could really use some help here. Finally he just took the ten.

"I'll make up the difference," Steve offered. "If you don't mind dimes and nickels, I'm sure I've got another buck, seventy five here."

"Don't worry about it,' Kate said, scooping the quarters out of his hand. "You're doing me a favor, I really appreciate it."

"Still, I'm short changing you, it doesn't feel right,' he replied.

"You can buy me a cup of coffee sometime and we call it even, okay?'

"Yeah, okay."

"Nice to meet you, Steve and thanks again,' Kate said with a smile. She turned and walked back out of the room, closing his front door behind her. Steve stood looking at the door for a moment and then turned around only to find Friday standing right in front of him.

"Oh, Jeez,' he gasped, taking a step back.

"I apologize if I startled you, Captain," Friday replied. "The young woman said she is a neighbor, do I understand that correctly?"

"Yeah, name's Kate, works at the hospital apparently,' Steve said with a nod. "Seems nice."

Friday had been scanning Steve, noticing slight fluctuations in his body indicators. He liked her, Friday realized. Friday had also scanned Kate when she entered the room. Friday had all the access that Jarvis had, so she knew the young woman's name wasn't Kate and she most definitely didn't work at the hospital. The Captain's reaction to her though, made Friday pause and reconsider whether to tell him who the young woman really was. He liked her and it wasn't completely unreasonable that SHIELD would want to keep an eye on him. For now, Friday decided to keep this information to herself, as no harm had come from the encounter.

"Nice,' Friday repeated. "Yes, I am sure she is."

Steve smiled and nodded.

"Hey, where did you go earlier?" He asked. "I mean one second you're there and then I answer the door and you disappear."

"I am rather valuable proprietary property of Stark Industries, Captain,' Friday explained. "It would not be wise for me to reveal myself to others, no matter how 'nice' they may seem."

"So you're going to be like my imaginary friend that only I can see?" Steve asked in disbelief.

"A simplification, but for the most part accurate."

"Great."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Washington DC

By Friday's calculations she was making progress with her assignment.

Since the parameters had been left vague, it fell to her to fill them out. Working off the hypothesis that to help the Captain, she needed more understanding of human beings that necessitated she would need more memory. It was a simple process to requisition more memory from Stark Industries and then walk the Captain through the instillation. He didn't seem to question why he was doing it, just assumed he was helping. That made things easier for Friday. Explaining what a terabyte was and that she now had over 200 terabytes at her disposal was rather more advanced then where they were in his education on the new century.

The extra memory allowed her to enhance the interaction with the Captain. Humans by nature tend to anthropomorphize anything impersonal or irrational. They give machines, inanimate objects and especially animals' human traits and personalities, along with motivations. In Friday's research it seemed the most plausible reason for so many people dressing up their dogs and cats and referring to them as their babies. It also seemed the best explanation for why so many people seemed to think their appliances were out to get them. Probably the best example for Friday's situation would be the boss, Tony Stark and how he had taken it to another level with Jarvis.

Friday estimated that the more real she appeared to the Captain, the more comfortable he would be with her, thus making her assignment more likely to succeed. Part of her upgrade was to use Femtosecond laser technology to create pulses of light that lasted one millionth of one billionth of a second. As a result, the laser produced pulses that respond to touch when they are interrupted. Thus, the desired image can be created with the lasers, while humans can feel the particles created by the laser as if they were s solid presence. Friday would be able to touch the Captain and he would be able to touch her in turn.

The difficult part of understanding humans Friday's was learning was emotions. Not having experienced or having them, she researched an explanation of them. The theory she settled on using was by Robert Plutchik, which seemed to be one of the most influential classification approaches for general emotional responses. He considered there to be eight primary emotions – **anger, fear, sadness, disgust, surprise, anticipation, trust and joy**. Plutchik proposed that these 'basic' emotions are biologically primitive and have evolved in order to increase the reproductive fitness of the animal. Plutchik argues for the primacy of these emotions by showing each to be the trigger of behavior with high survival value, such as the way fear inspires the fight or flight response.

Of course there were subsets within those eight behaviors, but Friday decided on using those eight as her baseline. While she understood the definition of all of them, recognition and understanding of them was not something she had been programmed with. Again she looked for a scientific solution to this problem. Using facial recognition technology, she added an algorithm that identified key landmarks on the face, a sort of emotion recognition standard. Friday spent several days identifying key landmarks of the Captain's face, such as the corners of his eyebrows, the tip of his nose and the corners of his mouth. Using machine-learning algorithms she then analyzed pixels in those regions to classify facial expressions. Combinations of these facial expressions were then mapped to emotions. Combined with deep learning approaches, Friday could very quickly tune her algorithms for high performance and accuracy.

As SHIELD was trying to ease the Captain into the new reality, Friday had ample time to become intimately familiar with his face. While the actual emotions were unfamiliar to her, she did begin to recognize the ones the Captain experienced the most.

Sadness was the primary emotion.

Friday filed sorrow, grief and depression under the sadness heading. Over the first few weeks of her attempting to help him there were some hard days for the Captain. Friday had talked him through hooking up the television she could use visual aids to assist in his catching up with what happened while he was in the ice. He had quietly asked her to stop several times when she was showing him how the Second World War ended. The discovery of the extent of the death camps throughout the former Nazi territory was the first time.

"I knew some of it was going on, but never that it was this bad,' he'd whispered, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

The Captain had sat in stunned silence as Friday showed him Hiroshima and Nagasaki, along with the aftermath.

"God in heaven, we did that?" He asked. "We were supposed to be the good guys."

Friday tried explaining the historical thinking behind the actions, but from the look on his face, she did not think it matter much to him.

The third time he stopped the footage, somewhat surprised Friday. It was the celebration of VJ day in New York City. He had stopped it on an iconic photo of a service man kissing a young woman. The Captain just seemed to stare at the screen for the longest time. Friday asked if he knew them, to which he just shook his head and kept looking at the image.

After almost twenty minutes, the Captain got up and walked into the dining room where the files from SHIELD about his colleagues from the war lay untouched the whole time Friday had been assisting the Captain. While she couldn't see his face, his body language suggested an all-encompassing sadness, as he slowly sat down at the table. He took a deep breath and then opened the top folder. One by one he made his way through all of them, His fingertips seemed to linger over their pictures. Friday had access to all the files so she knew the results for all of them. All but one had passed away, usually years before the present. The sole living member in those files was Margaret "Peggy" Carter. There were many stories about her and the Captain, suggesting a great love between the two of them. Those stories had never been confirmed by each of the two principal parties.

The Captain was mostly quiet that night, although he did speak a bit about his comrades, the Howling Commandos. It was almost as if he were not speaking to Friday, but putting words to memories for his own benefit. Friday dutifully listened. When she had first started this assignment, Friday had gone through every record, all the books and all the video on the captain. The stories the Captain spoke of, while similar to the others, parts of them differed in fundamental ways. As she listened, Friday went back over the other versions of the stories and compared them.

She began to realize something that had not occurred to her before. Human memories, while amazing also lean towards being rather flawed. Humans tend over time to foreground themselves in their memories, increasing their own prominence in the remembered events. It's not an intentional thing or malicious, it's just the way human minds work. They also tend to prune away details that complicate the story.

Unlike the Captain, a lot more time had passed for the others. Their recollections seemed to inflate their own parts in the stories, as well as mythologize the Captain. He become taller, smarter, and over all better as the years went on. Given that her boss was Tony Stark, Friday could not help but check on the relationship between the Captain and Howard Stark. His narrative was well known to her, as it was with most people that knew Tony Stark. Yet Friday could not help wondering if perhaps that narrative had been changed like all the others. So she looked at the facts as best she could ascertain them.

Howard Stark had been a young man when the war started. While he was a friend with Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos during the conflict, he rarely if ever was on the front lines or in battle with them. He served in a supporting role, aiding in the creation of the first super soldier, Captain America. He was a government contractor, a huge one, but his primary job was creating weapons. He spent most of the war shuttling between London and Washington, DC. He had worked on the Manhattan Project.

As Friday looked at the records, she started to wonder if perhaps there was a connection. Howard Stark started searching for the Captain in the years after the atomic bomb was dropped on Japan. He was well known for having recriminations about the whole project and the use of the bomb. Still a young man, perhaps the idealism that he had at the beginning of the war had been shaken by how the war ended. Had Howard Stark lost hope? Could that be his motivation for searching for the Captain all those years?

Had the search for the Captain become something else then just a search for a lost friend? From all the reports as he aged, Howard Stark became more withdrawn, cynical about the world and cold in his relationships. He grew distant from his wife and son, yet each year he would again search for the Captain. It was well known, as he got older, Howard was known for telling stories about the Captain. The boss, Tony Stark had grown up hearing them and had begun to hate them over time. Had over the years, the Captain become a symbol for Howard Stark's lost idealism and hope? Was he just a memory of a better time, when the future seemed open ahead of them? Had the desire to recapture something he felt he had lost, cause Howard Stark to foreground himself in the stories, and prune the details that complicated that narrative?

Was Howard Stark really looking for the Captain after all or just a version of himself that he felt he'd lost?

These were all questions Friday found troubling. They were all so human, involving memory and emotions. Perhaps in helping the Captain and understanding him, she could find the answers to the other questions.

These as well as an infinite number of other questions were being processed as Friday sat with the Captain and continued his education on the time he'd missed. Moving away from the war, Friday chose to introduce television to the Captain. It had basically been an idea when he was growing up and had come into prominence in the 1950s after he had gone into the ice. At first he seemed shock and overwhelmed by the sheer number of choices that were available.

"There's not enough hours in the day," he sadly said. "I'll never catch up."

There was that emotion again, sadness.

Friday switched from the news reports to some of the entertainment programs from the beginning of television. She was flipping through them when the Captain again asked her to stop.

"Could I just watch this one, please?" He asked.

"Of course."

It was an episode of an early 1950s show called, Your Show of Shows. The star was Sid Caesar. The skit that was playing was called This Is Your Story, a parody of This Is Your Life. The Captain didn't know about that show, but as he watched the skit play out, Friday was again caught off guard by his reaction. She recognized two other emotions coming from the Captain, surprise and joy. He was smiling and laughing for the first time since Friday had been activated. When the skit was finally over, the Captain sat back and looked over at Friday. He was smiling.

"Thank you, Friday."

"You are welcome, Steve."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Money

Washington DC

Steve hadn't given much thought to money since coming out of the ice. SHIELD had taken care of most of it, setting him up with an apartment and bank account. One of the first things he'd been shown was how to use an ATM so he could buy groceries and other items he might need. Since officially joining SHIELD he assumed he was drawing a salary, but hadn't looked into what it was. One of the accountants had explained the new apartment was part of a package deal. The rent was automatically deducted from his paycheck. It was at a reduced rate, but he was still paying for it. A new debit card was issued to him and he had to learn a new password.

Steve had enough money to live on, which having grown up during the Depression was all he really worried about so he turned his attention to all the things he still needed to catch up on. His first bank statement changed that. He was stunned as it said he had a balance of 8 thousand dollars.

"Oh my God, Friday, I'm rich!" He immediately exclaimed, waving the letter in front of him.

Friday had already scanned his electronic statements so she was aware of the amount in his account. His reaction puzzled her.

"It is eight thousand dollars, Captain,' she replied. "I do not believe that would be considered rich."

"What? Of course it is,' Steve countered. "The most money I ever had at one time was a little over a hundred dollars in my pocket. The most I made in my life was 2400 dollars and that was as a Captain in the army back in 44. Eight thousand, I mean, that's just amazing!"

"Steve, you're salary from SHIELD is 42 thousand dollars a year, the entry level pay for a field agent and hardly a large sum."

"42 thousand?"

"Yes, you would think it higher after your contributions in New York, but they are starting you at the same pay grade as everyone else,' Friday explained.

"42 thousand,' Steve repeated, stunned as he sat down on the couch. He knew things had changed and everything cost more, but the idea of ever making 42 thousand dollars in one year had never occurred to him. In the depression someone with that kind of money could live like a king. The fact was before going into the army; Steve had never met anyone that had 42 thousand dollars or even a thousand dollars. "That's a lot of money. That seems like I'm rich to me."

"Steve,' Friday said, moving over to sit down next to him. "In 1944, yes, that would be a lot of money for most people, but it is not a lot now as far as yearly income. Do you wish to have a discussion about your wealth?"

"I thought you just said 42 thousand wasn't really that rich?"

"It is not,' Friday replied. "Although, your salary from SHIELD is hardly the only money you possess."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

"You have considerable other resources in your portfolio,' Friday replied. Pulling up a schematic on the television Friday began to explain just how much money Steve had at his disposal. "The army owes you back pay, with commensurate promotions and salary increases for the last 70 years. You were missing in action, so it applies. In fact when you were recovered, the process was begun to make those funds available to you."

"Really?" Steve asked. "How much are we talking about?"

"Several million dollars."

"M-M-Million?" Steve stammered.

"Several million,' Friday repeated. "There are also your residuals from your short motion picture career. You did join the Screen Actors Guild, did you not?"

"Of course,' Steve immediately replied, still flustered by the idea of millions. "I grew up in an immigrant neighborhood; we were all strong union supporters. I still do support unions."

"Well SAG and the studios came to an agreement about how your residuals would be in effect in perpetuity. Since you were lost in combat, it was more of a symbolic gesture, a sort of joint promotion to the war effort after you disappeared."

Steve was only half listening, as the sum Friday told him he was due from the army stunned him.

"A million, really?" He couldn't help asking again.

"Yes,' Friday replied. "Now as to your residuals, it is true they aren't large per check, but when you combine them over seventy years they add up. Plus there was a wave of nostalgia in the sixties about you, so the movies were shown on television quite a bit. When cable first began, channels were desperate for content so there was another up tick in interest in your movies. Now the merchandising is where the money really starts to add up."

"Merchandising? What's that?" Steve couldn't help ask. Frankly he wasn't even sure what merchandising was.

"You,' Friday explained. "Well, you and Captain America to be exact. When it was discussed making a cartoon about you in the sixties, Margaret Carter with the help of Howard Stark managed to trademark both in your name. They didn't think it would be much, but they imagined that if you ever were found, it would pay for your funeral. They were both approaching middle age so I imagine that had something to do with it, but I do not wish to speculate on their motivations. The government challenged the licenses, but in an out of court settlement you retained the lion's share of them. It seems when Senator Brandt came up with the name, he didn't think to trademark it."

"Peggy and Howard trademarked me?"

"Yes, it is commonly done with dead famous celebrities. Miss Carter spearheaded the effort, but Mr. Stark played his part as well," Friday continued. "Although we haven't discussed him yet, a famous singer from the 50s named Elvis Presley actually makes more money now then when he was alive."

"How is that possible?" Steve asked, not believing any of this could be true.

"In your case,' Friday explained. "Any company that wants to make a product with your shield, likeness or name has to pay you a licensing fee. Companies want to align their brand with your image and reputation. They also want to use you to sell their products."

Friday briefly displayed a series of items that used either his shield or his likeness.

"Since New York the demanded has increased tenfold,' she explained. "You are quite popular and since the marketing was already in place, quite lucrative. Your shield is a beautiful, yet simple design that lends itself to merchandise much easier than the other Avengers, even Mr. Stark. He is currently number two in merchandise behind you. I don't think I have to tell you this is a situation he is not pleased with."

The numbers continued to climb on the screen beyond anything Steve thought possible. It suddenly struck him he might be the second richest Avenger after Tony Stark.

"Friday, this is insane,' Steve finally said. "I don't need all that money. I didn't earn it. Can't I just give it away to people that do? Maybe the March of Dimes or something?"

"You do know polio has been cured, Steve?" Friday asked.

"Yes, I was told that early on,' Steve replied. "Dr. Salk, I believe the man's name was."

"Yes, he along with others found the vaccine,' Friday explained.

"So there's no March of Dimes anymore?"

"No, they still exist,' Friday replied. "If you wish to give them all your money, it is your right. I would caution you against it though."

"Why?" Steve asked.

"Because if you give all your money away, you will be depended on SHIELD," Friday explained. "You have voiced misgivings about them in the past, Steve. I believe their plans for the tesseract troubled you. Do you want to be dependent on them completely?"

"No, but just leaving all that money in the bank doesn't seem right, either,' Steve replied. "I don't trust banks that much; I lived through the bank failures at the beginning of the Great Depression. If the money could be helping people, it should be."

"I was not advising you keep all your money in a bank,' Friday stated. "Money though brings with it freedom. If you find yourself in a situation that goes against your principals, having money allows you to walk away. Having looked at your history, Steve, you have a tendency to go against authority, against orders when you feel it is the right thing to do."

"I can't just stand by when I see a situation going south, Friday, no matter what the rules say,' Steve stated.

"I am not debating the merits of that attitude, Steve," Friday explained. "I would just like to point out there are consequences to your actions."

"I know that."

"There can also be financial consequences to your actions,' Friday continued. "If you end up going against the rules or orders, there is something called civil forfeiture. This allows the government, both local and national to commandeer your money if they suspect you of, but have not been charged with crimes. They can take it all and there is very little you can do to get it back."

"Even if I'm only suspected of a crime? That doesn't seem right,' Steve replied.

"Be that as it may, that is one of the laws of the land now,' Friday stated. "If you still wish to give all the money away, that is your prerogative, but I would advise you to wait until you have more knowledge of this time."

"And what do I do while I'm gaining more knowledge, just let it sit in a bank helping no one?"

"No," Friday replied. "If you would allow me, I can make sure it is safe until you have a better understanding. Perhaps you could start with donating your residuals from your movie career? It is a considerable sum and you would be able to see how the process works."

"Where would I donate it too?' Steve reluctantly said. "As you pointed out, I'm a little behind the times as to which charities to give it too."

"I could handle it for you, or you could seek the advice of someone you know,' Friday suggested."

"Most of the people I know are in SHIELD and I'd like to keep them out of it for the reasons you've already stated,' Steve replied. "I don't really know anyone else."

"Maybe I suggest someone, Steve?"

"Of course."

"Miss Potts."

* * *

SHIELD HEADQUARTERS

Steve was having his weekly meeting with Maria Hill. They went over the usual, how he was adjusting and what he thought of the few missions he'd been on. It was all standard stuff and Maria was just about to end the meeting, when Steve told her he was going to New York.

"You're supposed to inform us ahead of time if you plan on leaving the area,' she immediately said.

"I am, I'm informing you, "he replied.

"What's the nature of your trip?"

"Personal."

"Do better,' Maria replied.

He seemed to think about if for a moment, before answering.

"I wanted to donor some money to the clean up,' he finally said.

Maria smiled at this.

"You realize Stark and the government are already taking the lead on that, don't you?' She asked.

"Every bit helps, doesn't it?" He replied. "I grew up in New York, so I want to do something to help."

"I can understand that," she admitted. Maria knew how much he made at SHIELD so she doubted he had a lot to give, but understood the gesture. He was Captain America; after all, helping was what he was known for. "Alright, how long will you be gone?"

"Just tomorrow. I'll be back the next day."

"Okay, enjoy your trip."

"Thank you,' Steve said with a smile.

* * *

New York – the next day

Friday had set up a meeting with Miss Potts for noon, but Steve had arrived early. He knew as the head of Stark's company, her time was valuable and he didn't want to waste it. So he decided to walk around the city until the meeting. He knew she was probably only taking the meeting because he was Captain America, so he didn't want to take up more of her time then necessary. As he made his way around the city, checking out the clean up, he couldn't help noticing the Stark logo was everywhere. He knew Tony was spending a lot of money on the clean up, but it seemed like he was making sure everyone knew it too.

Steve knew his donation was small compared to what Stark was spending, but he also didn't want everyone knowing about it. He wasn't giving the money to be recognized, it was to help. The focus should be on the people actually doing the work of cleaning up the city, not him because he was a celebrity and gave some money. Steve still felt a bit guilty about the money to be truthful. He didn't feel like he'd earned it. Steve was used to earning what he had, no matter how little it was.

Friday had been very persuasive about taking his time before just giving it all away, but part of him still felt wrong about. During the Depression, Steve and his mother probably wouldn't have made it if others hadn't helped them. It felt like it was his turn to give back. It was a new world, so he would wait as Friday suggested, but only until he had a better grasp on how things worked these days.

He still had some time before his meeting so he stopped at the outdoor café across from Stark tower. He had been there before right after he came out of the ice. It had mostly been about a familiar name, Stark, more than anything else. He understood the people he knew were all probably gone, so the name was at least familiar. His mind was pulled from these thoughts by a familiar figure tentatively making his way into the café.

"Doctor?" Steve called out immediately.

Banner seemed to flinch before he realized who was calling him. He relaxed a bit as he made his way over to Steve table.

"Captain? What are you doing here?" He asked.

"I have a meeting in a little while, so I'm just wasting time,' Steve replied. "Why don't you join me? If you want."

Banner seemed surprised by the offer.

"Are you sure?'

"Yes, I mean you're one of the few people I actually know so it would be nice to not have to sit here alone,' Steve stated.

A small smiled crossed Bruce's face as he took a seat opposite Steve. The waitress came over almost immediately. She refilled Steve's coffee with a smile and then took Banner's order, large tea and a scone. The two of them sat in silence for a moment.

"So you decided to stay in New York?' Steve offered, hoping to start a conversation.

"Well, for now, yes," Bruce replied. 'Tony's rather persuasive."

They both chuckled at this. Before they could continue the waitress came back with Bruce's order. She smiled at Steve and said if they needed anything to just call, her name was Linda.

"You must get that a lot," Bruce observed after she left.

"Good service?" Steve asked, not sure what Bruce was referring to. "I suppose. I have been here before, but it was another waitress that time."

Bruce just looked at him for a moment in disbelief, before chuckling.

"I wasn't talking about the service, Captain," he said. "She obviously likes you. I'm pretty sure it's not me that has her smiling and being so attentive."

Steve had been so focused on other things he hadn't even noticed how friendly the waitress had been. He suddenly remembered the last time he was here and the old guy telling him to ask for the waitress's number.

"I didn't, I mean, I wasn't thinking about …" Steve stammered to say, caught off guard by the whole thing.

"I wouldn't worry about," Bruce said with a smile. "There's worse problem to have, believe me.'

They way his smile disappeared as he said it; Steve knew he was talking about the Hulk.

"Would you mind if I ask you a question about that?' Steve said.

Bruce tore off a piece of his scone and wearily looked at Steve. He was used to people wanting to ask questions about the Hulk. 'What do you want to know about the other guy, captain?"

"I don't, "Steve replied, "I was wondering why?"

"Why what?"

"Why were you trying to recreate the serum?"

That was a question most didn't ask, Bruce. Steve had been given the basic outline of his Avenger teammates and Coulson had mentioned trying to recreate the serum was a cause of the Hulk.

"It was a government project," Bruce replied. "I was one of the scientists working on it."

"So it was in your specialty?" Steve asked.

"Not exactly,' Bruce said with a sad smile. "I was interested in the project, though."

"Why?"

Bruce laughed and then took a sip of his tea. This was not a topic he expected to talk about.

"I'm five feet eight, Captain and perhaps a hundred and fifty pounds,' he finally offered. "Waitresses never look at me the way that one did at you."

"Come on,' Steve scoffed. "That can't be it. You're a genius and one of the top people in your field."

"You'd be surprised what you'd do when you're in love with a woman," Bruce quietly said.

"No, I wouldn't,' Steve replied.

A look of understanding passed between them.

"It wasn't the only reason,' Bruce finally stated. "There was the challenge of being the person to figure out something that had been lost for 70 years. This best minds hadn't been able to do it, I thought I could."

"I guess you like a challenge,' Steve said with a smirk. "We have that in common, I could never walk away from one either."

"That's a nice way of thinking about it,' Bruce said with a chuckle. "It would be nice to believe we had something in common."

"You don't believe it though, do you?"

"No, I don't,' Bruce admitted. "Since this happened, since the "Other Guy", I guess I've been ruminating on how we don't actually know anyone and our perception of other people, even those dear to us, the loves of our lives, are just an assortment of assumptions and suppositions, fractured memories. I not the man most think I am and I imagine you aren't either."

There was a silence between them, the noise of the city filling it in.

"I didn't realize one of your degrees was in philosophy,' Steve said with a smile.

Bruce genuinely laughed at this.

"This experience has almost forced me to be a bit more philosophical,' Bruce offered. "It was one of the reasons I was in India before all this happened.'

"Did you find any answers?"

"No. Maybe. I don't honestly know yet,' Bruce replied.

"I wish I could help,' Steve said. "Unfortunately, the serum didn't give me answers to those sorts of questions. Seventy years in the ice didn't help either."

"Has anything helped?" Bruce asked.

"Sadly, this did,' Steve replied, gesturing around them. "When we fought the aliens, it was simple. I'm sure you even felt that. If we didn't stop them, everything, everyone was lost. It's only after it was over, that things got complicated again."

"Hulk smash,' Bruce mused with a laugh. "That's about as simple as you can get."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Even after having lunch with Banner, Steve was still a few minutes early to see Miss Potts. He gave his name to whom he assumed was Miss Potts' secretary and was told it would just be a moment. A lot of people, mostly young women, seemed to be coming into the office. It took Steve a moment to realize they were there to look at him. They didn't seem to know he could hear them as they whispered. He knew what this was and had dealt with it back when he was performing with the USO. Putting on his most winning smile, he turned and did his best to be welcoming as possible. He signed several autographs and of course posed for photos.

Mercifully, the secretary finally offered him a tablet to read as she shooed the others out of the office. Thanking her with a sigh of relief, Steve tried to pay attention to the tablet. The first site that came up when he turned it on was something called Goop. It was apparently something called a lifestyle brand with New Age advice like "police your thoughts" and "eliminate white foods". Their slogan was "Nourish the Inner Aspect". There were advertisements for something called Moon Juice and 'activated cashews', neither of which Steve had any clue what they were. What the heck was a brand tribe anyway?

As he looked over the site, he couldn't help thinking that if this was the sort of thing Miss Potts liked maybe she and Tony Stark weren't such an odd match after all. Before he could ponder this further, the main office door opened and Miss Potts stepped out with a smile.

"Captain." She said, extending her hand towards him. "I'm sorry if I've kept you waiting too long. It's been a busy morning and I'm usually in LA most of the time."

Steve shook her hand and smiled.

"No problem, thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Miss Potts."

"Call me Pepper, please, Captain."

"Alright, Pepper, it's just Steve by the way,' he replied.

"Steve it is,' Pepper said with a smile. "Why don't you come into my office and we can discuss what brings you here today?"

Steve nodded and followed her into the office. He stopped and returned the tablet to the secretary with a thank you. Once he walked into the office, Steve paused dead in his tracks as he saw the view from the floor to ceiling windows. Manhattan was spread out in front of him. He had only caught glimpses of the city from this point of view out of an airplane window. It was spectacular.

"Why don't you have a seat, Steve?" Pepper said, as she slid effortlessly into the large chair behind her desk.

"What? Oh, yes, of course,' Steve replied, pulling himself from the view and taking a seat across from her. His eyes kept drifting to the view behind her.

"I used to get lost in the view too,' Pepper said with a laugh. "When I first started using this office, I wasn't sure I'd ever get anything done as I kept staring out the windows."

Steve dipped his head for a moment, a little embarrassed at being caught gawking like that.

"I've just never seen it like this before,' he admitted. "It can be overwhelming from the ground level if you're not used to it, I guess. I grew up here, so it never occurred to me, but seeing it like this, I get it."

"It does add perspective, doesn't it?'

"Yeah."

Steve remembered when he was just a kid back in 1930 and they started building the Empire State Building. He rode the subway with his mom to watch it go up. He'd never actually gone to the top to look out over the city like so many people did. It was the same with the Statue of Liberty. Money was tight back then, plus being up so high probably wouldn't have done his asthma much good. His lungs had been weak as it was; so he just stayed on the ground level all of his life.

"So, Steve,' Pepper began. "You wanted this meeting today to ask for my help with something?"

"Yes, yes,' he replied. "I, ah, wanted to donate some money, you know, to help with the clean up and aftermath of what happened. I saw that you are an active board member at the Maria Stark Foundation, so I was hoping you might help me. I figured you'd know where the money would do the most good."

Pepper smiled and leaned back in her chair. She couldn't help wondered just how much money Steve could possible have? He'd been out of the ice less than a year, so he certainly wasn't rich from working for SHIELD. He still wanted to help though, and she had to admit she admired that.

"Well, there are many charities and relief agencies that are doing good work,' she said. "Depending on what your criteria is, I can give you the names of several."

"My criteria?"

"Yes, what standards and practices you require of the organization,' she explained. "Are they doing animal testing or supporting causes you disagree with, do they turn a blind eye to human rights violations and support anti-democratic movements and governments. The list can be quite long depending on your criteria."

"I-I, um, just wanted to help the people that suffered from the attack,' he lamely said. He hadn't thought of any of the things she was talking about. Christ, he'd never worried about any of that stuff when he gave his pennies to the March of Dimes.

"Steve, any money you give will draw attention,' Pepper patiently explained. "Captain America donating money will be big news. Whatever organization you pick will certainly let it be known that Captain America endorses them. I would imagine they'd use it in future pledge drives. You have to be careful who you associate your name with, Steve."

"I don't want my name associated with it," he replied. "I'm not doing this for recognition or attention. I have the money so I want to help. I'd rather my name not even be mentioned. I want to do it anonymously, if I can."

Pepper just sat there looking at him for a moment. What he was saying went against everything she was used to. Tony Stark rarely did anything anonymously. Since becoming head of his company she was well aware that few people or organizations did. Corporations and the wealthy made sure their names were attached to any of their charitable work. It was good PR and a major deduction, that last part they tended to not mention. Then again, Steve wasn't a corporation or as far as Pepper knew, wealthy. He probably just wants to give his few hundred dollars without a lot of fanfare, she thought. She was overthinking this.

"Steve, why don't I handle it for you," Pepper suggested. "I'll make sure it gets to the right organizations and keep your name out of it. How does that sound?"

"I couldn't ask you that,' Steve replied. "I know you're probably way too busy running this huge company. You must have more than enough on your plate without helping me."

Polite, she thought with a smile.

"Steve, I'm already handling most of Stark Industries charitable donations and our own foundation, I think I can easily help you."

"Are you sure, I don't want to put you out?"

"I'm sure,' Pepper replied. "I can also make sure your contribution remains anonymous."

"Well, okay, if you're sure,' Steve said. He reached back and pulled out his wallet. Pepper's smile got just a little bigger as she imagined him handing over a couple of hundred dollars. What she didn't expect was a cashier's check.

"I got to tell you, I was really nervous walking around with this,' he admitted as he handed over the check.

For a moment, Pepper just sat there looking at the check in stunned silence.

"Steve!" She finally gasped. "This is a cashier's check for 42 million dollars!"

"Yeah,' he said with a laugh. "I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around it too."

"But-But how?" Pepper stammered. "What did you do? Sell your blood on the black market? How could you possibly have 42 million dollars?"

"No, nothing like that,' he replied with a laugh. "It seems while I was in the ice, others were protecting my name and making sure I made money. It's more than I'd ever need, so I thought I'd try and do some good with it."

"Others? What others?" Pepper asked. "What did they do, trademark the name Captain America for you?"

Steve shrugged and then nodded.

"Oh, wow, the merchandising alone must be a goldmine,' Pepper mused. "With you returning it must be skyrocketing. Did they trademark the shield for you? They did, didn't they? You're already outselling Tony and Iron Man, so Christmas this year is going to be windfall. He is going to be so jealous and pissed about this when he hears."

"Could we just keep this between the two of us, please, Pepper?' Steve asked.

"What? Why?"

"I'm not really that comfortable with any of it, to be truthful,' Steve admitted. "I didn't ask for this or really earn any of it. I didn't do any of this so I could profit off it. I know they were just doing what they thought was right for my memory, but I doubt I've have wanted any of this if I'd been around."

Pepper let her eyes move over his face as he spoke. She could see this was troubling him. Being rich apparently didn't sit well with Steve, she thought. She disagreed with him over whether he deserved it, but there was no use arguing with him about it right now.

"There's also the fact you live and work with Tony, Pepper, do you really want to deal with him knowing about this?" Steve asked with a playful smile on his lips.

"No,' Pepper admitted with a laugh. "Definitely not."

"The money should do some good for people that needed it,' Steve stated. "Let that be the legacy for the people that set this all up for me."

"We'll keep it anonymous, Steve,' Pepper said in agreement. "I'll keep your name out of it and make sure it gets to the right people."

"That's all I could ask, thank you Pepper."

* * *

South America – Peruvian Airspace

Their destination was the Ayacucho Region of Peru. A splinter group from the Shining Path had taken over a small mountain town. They were disillusioned with the leadership and the continuing decline of the movement. Working with some of the regional drug traffickers to move their product, they had outfitted themselves with the latest weapons money could buy. They had managed to repel all the government's attempts to take the town back. The Glorious Dawn they called themselves and their stated goal was to set off the worldwide revolution.

The townspeople didn't get a say in any of it, they were just hostages.

SHIELD'S Strike team had been sent in to end the standoff. They were about ten minutes out. Natasha had mostly been working solo, but was tapped for this one. The group and it's motivations didn't really concern her. She'd long ago had her fill of revolutionaries supposedly fighting for the people. While she wasn't opposed to the idea of revolution against tyrants, dictators or oppressive systems, she'd seen too many times that those at the head of the revolutions were just as bad or worse than the people they were trying to replace. All the slogans and flowery words were nothing if they didn't actually help the people at the bottom, who needed it most.

Of course Natasha didn't share her political views with anyone. A lifetime of experience when she was young had taught her better than that. If you stated a position, that pinned you down. It was ammunition for your enemies. In a world that was constantly changing, being pinned down to a certain set of beliefs was a dangerous, even deadly thing.

This thought made Natasha glance at the team around her. Her eyes landed first on Rogers. She prided herself on an ability to read people, but Natasha wasn't sure she had the Captain quite down yet. All the world thought they knew who he was and what he stood for. Natasha wasn't quite so certain. Oh, she believed the part about justice and honor, but she wasn't so convinced about the patriotic soldier most believed fought for some vague notion of the American Way. From what she'd observed in their limited interactions he valued people much more than organizations or even governments. It wasn't SHIELD he fought for in New York, it was for the civilians caught up in all of it.

He seemed to have his own personal set of morals and beliefs that superseded any orders he was given. She of course had read his file. Hadn't the mission that made him famous been illegal? He went against orders and was AWOL to save his friend. Everyone seemed to gloss over that fact because it had been a success, rescuing 400 prisoners and taking out a main Hydra base. The propaganda machine had kicked into high gear after that selling him as a true blue American to the public. He already had the costume and the name, so it must have been easy to market him as some ideal people wanted to believe in.

Her eyes drifted over to the STRIKE team. They were easy to figure out. They were good, she would give them that, but they were basically goons in uniforms. They were good little soldiers that would follow any order, but she had been a good little soldier once that followed any order too, so Natasha knew that mindset very well. She still found herself slipping back into it at times, but always managed to pull out of it. Never questioning orders and believing whatever you were told was dangerous. If you always think you have right on your side without questioning it, you can justify all sorts of horrors.

All these thoughts went through her mind, but her outward demeanor gave nothing away. She rechecked her weapons and went over in her head her specific mission. She was a spy, not a soldier, so taking on the narco-terrorists wasn't her main objective. Her focus was getting her hands on any information the splinter cell had on their partners. Bank records, wire transfers, cell phones, e-mails, texts, all of it would be valuable for disrupting the drug traffickers. The STRIKE team and Rogers would take care of the rebels.

"Listen up,' Rumlow shouted, as he stood in front of a tactical display. "We have new information coming in and it's gong to impact the mission."

The others moved over to see the large screen.

"They've repositioned their forces,' One of the team groaned. "They must have known we were coming and changed positions to repel our attack. So basically we're fucked."

The whole team grumbled at this development.

"Shut up!" Rumlow shouted. "Our plan is still good, we'll just have to make a few adjustments on the fly."

"Some of you, maybe most of you are going to die if you keep the same plan."

Everyone turned to see who was speaking. It was Rogers.

"Rogers," Rollins snared.

"It's an ambush if you don't change the plan,' Steve continued.

"It's all worked out, Rogers, we came up with this plan and we're going to stick with it. So keep your mouth shut,' Rollins shouted. Several of the others on the team nodded in agreement, but not all of them, Natasha noticed.

"It's too late to come up with a completely new plan, Rogers, we'll just have to make due,' Rumlow added.

"That's not good enough," Steve said, stepping up the screen. This was something he knew how to do. The places, weapons and names might have changed but an attack on a fortified town was still basically the same as it had been seventy years ago or even 200 years ago. Steve had done almost too many missions like this to count, so he wasn't going to sit back and watch it become a slaughter.

"STRIKE team break into two groups and instead of assaulting the town from this head on position, swing around to the sides,' Steve said, drawing out the new positions on screen. "Romanoff, we'll drop you by this church which should give you cover to get to their headquarters once the shooting starts."

"They're going to hear us coming even if we split up and attack from the sides, Rogers,' Rollins complained.

"No they won't because I'm going to draw all their fire by charging in from the original location you outlined in your plan,' Steve replied. "I'll draw their attention and then you move in. You should have the element of surprise when you attack."

Natasha stood silently on the side watching the others. It was an interesting plan and probably would work, but there was one glaring problem with it. Rogers was making himself a target for all the rebels. She glanced at the others to see if they saw it too. It took a moment but then Rumlow seemed to catch on.

"You sure about this Rogers?" He asked.

"It will work,' Steve replied.

Natasha waited to see if anyone would disagree with the plan, but no one spoke up. If Rogers wanted to get himself killed, that was his business. Natasha couldn't help noticing there was a subtle shift happening within the team. Rogers had just assumed command without really saying it. Even Rumlow seemed to know this and didn't object.

"Okay,' Rumlow said with a smile. "We got ourselves a new plan, suit up! We land in five!"

Rollins was going to protest but Rumlow shut him down. Natasha slipped her comm into her ear as she glanced over at Rogers one last time. Maybe she hadn't read him as well as she thought she had. He was still standing away from the others checking his equipment one last time. Maybe it was just her curiosity, but Natasha felt she had to poke and prod him just a little to understand what he was thinking.

"You know you're taking a big risk with you plan, don't you?" She quietly asked.

"It's an acceptable risk, ma'am,' he replied.

"They don't even like you,' she couldn't help saying. "Why take on all the risk for them?"

He finally turned and looked at her.

"Because it doesn't matter if they like me or not. They all have someone waiting for them to come home."

Natasha couldn't help thinking what he left unsaid, they all had someone to come home to and _he didn't_. Another piece of the puzzle that was Steve Rogers fell into place for her.

"It's your funeral," she finally said.

"Let's hope not,' he replied with a smile. "I have done this before, you know."

* * *

SHIELD Headquarters – 6 hours later.

The quinjet landed and the cargo bay door opened. The STRIKE team came down the ramp laughing and high-fiving each other. The mission had been a success and they hadn't lost anyone. A few had some nicks and scraps, but they were minor. Rogers had been wounded, but it wasn't anything life threatening. The team made their way towards the waiting support crew and into the building. A few moments passed and then Steve slowly made his way down the ramp. He'd been hit in the thigh, but the bullet had passed through so he was already healing. His leg was a little stiff, but it wasn't anything he had dealt with before. A young female support member rushed over to him.

"I'll take your gear for you, Captain, so you can get to medical,' she said with a smile.

"Thank you."

"Do you need any help making it inside?' she asked.

"No, I should be okay,' he offered with a smile of his own"

Her smile got a little bigger, then she nodded and quickly moved away. She glanced back over her shoulder just before she entered the building and gave Steve another big smile.

"She's cute, you should ask her out,' Natasha said as she silently came up behind Steve.

"W-What?" He said in surprise. He hadn't really been thinking about anything except finishing things up and heading back to his apartment for some sleep, so her suggestion caught him off guard.

"The girl,' Natasha replied, nodding her head towards the door. 'She likes you. Probably a fan, so she most definitely would be interesting in going out with you."

Natasha was just playing around, but Rogers reaction caught her notice. He seemed embarrassed and off kilter. Interesting, Natasha couldn't help thinking.

"I, um, ah, I don't think that's such a good idea,' Steve finally managed to say.

"Why? You don't like girls?" Natasha teased, finding she enjoyed watching Rogers squirm.

"I like women,' he said in his defense.

"So what's the problem?"

"I just got back and have been shot," Steve replied. "I'm tired and want to go to bed."

"I don't really know her that well, but I'd guess she wouldn't have a problem with that either,' Natasha said, a sly smile crossing her lips.

Steve couldn't help blushing just a bit. He was Irish and fair skinned, so blushing was just part of his makeup. He did notice Natasha smile get just a little bigger as she saw this. Even if he was new to this century, he still recognized when someone was messing with him. He'd had a lifetime of that growing up. He responded in kind.

"I'll pass,' he said. "Not to question your matchmaking skills, Romanoff, but that doesn't really seem like it would be part of your skill set."

"You'd be surprised,' she replied.

"I guess I'll never know,' he said, moving towards the doors. "Night, Romanoff."

"Night, Rogers,' she replied. Natasha couldn't help the smile that came to her lips as she watched him walk inside. As crass as it sounded, Natasha knew one of her secret guilty pleasures was fucking with people. Most were too terrified of her and her reputation to even realize she was doing it. She had a feeling Rogers knew and that just made it all the more fun. Matchmaking, huh? She could definitely work with that.

* * *

SHIELD Headquarters - Later

The executive suite on the top floor of the building was reserved for the Secretary to the World Council and supervisor of SHIELD. The man currently occupying that position was Alexander Pierce. He was just finishing up his latest discussions with the current council members. He had been pushing hard for Project Insight in response to the events of New York and he'd just nailed down the last holdout. It had taken considerable ass kissing and ego stroking but his ultimate plans were starting to take shape. After thanking them and wishing them well, the monitors went black. A moment passed and the center screen came on. Gideon Malick appeared.

"Any news?' Malick asked.

"They gave their final approval,' Pierce replied with a satisfied smile. "Project Insight is a go."

"What about Fury?'

"He's on board too,' Pierce said. "He sees the value in this project."

"But not the true value,' Malick replied with a wicked smile.

"He wouldn't be on board if he did,' Pierce stated. 'I plan on keeping it that way. At least until they're operational, then it won't matter."

"Hail Hydra!"

"Hail Hydra,' Pierce replied. "We're moving into a new phase, Gideon. We need our people in the governments to play up the possible threat of not just aliens, but enhanced individuals like the Avengers. Let's sow the seeds of fear now and it will pay off later when we have to confront them as enemies."

"The public is rather enamored with the Avengers right now,' Malick pointed out.

"Well, they did stop an alien invasion,' Pierce replied. "You idiots firing a nuclear warhead at Manhattan certainly helped too."

"Are you questioning my decisions, Pierce?" Malick growled.

"Yes,' Pierce replied. "You've been blundering around searching for antique artifacts and firing missiles, while forgetting our long-term goals. It's why I'm in charge now, to make sure you and the others don't make any more mistakes."

"I suppose your support of Fury bringing in Captain America is in our long-term goals too?" Malick sarcastically asked. "The man is the greatest enemy Hydra has! We should have killed him before he woke up from the ice!"

"Let me worry about Rogers,' Pierce dismissively said. "As far as Captain America goes, he's a man out of time, lost in a new world. Killing him would have drawn too much attention to us, even Zola agreed. By letting Fury bring him in, we can keep an eye on him."

"You lean on that monstrosity in a computer too much," Malick replied.

"He's been right about almost everything so far,' Pierce pointed out. "With Rogers in SHIELD we can control him. As I said, he's lost, so he's looking for someplace to belong. The more he feels like SHIELD is becoming his home, the more we'll be able to control him."

"You don't really think you can bring Captain America over to our side, do you, Pierce?" Malick asked, with a dry chuckle. "He'll bring the whole place down around him rather than join Hydra."

"Only if it's Hydra he knows he's joining,' Pierce countered. "You all give him too much credit. Yes, he stopped us in the 40s, but these aren't the 40s."

"Don't underestimate him, Pierce or you'll jeopardize everything we've worked for,' Malick counseled. "Rogers inspires belief and that's dangerous in any era."

"If it comes to that, we'll just kill him like we will Fury,' Pierce bluntly said.

"Hail Hydra!"

"Hail Hydra."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Identity

Washington DC

Friday continued Steve's education on what happened while he was in the ice. They'd moved through the 50s and 60s and were about to start on the 70s. Friday's approach was to hit what she objectively believed were the highlights and then return to any topic if Steve had questions. From his reactions, Friday inferred that the moon landing had the largest impact on him.

 _"One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."_

She was just about to move on to Watergate, when Steve asked a question.

"Why do you think so many people don't believe that Oswald fellow killed the President?"

"There are many theories why,' she replied. 'It mostly falls into the area of opinion, so I am probably not the best judge of their virtues."

"But you must have an opinion on it,' Steve ventured.

"Opinions are views or judgments formed about something, not necessarily based on fact or knowledge. The way I process or as you would call it, 'think' does not work that way." Friday countered.

"But you can evaluate them on their merits, can't you?" Steve asked. "You would place them in a hierarchy of some sort, wouldn't you? Which one has the most merit to you?"

"Perhaps if you told me what you are seeking with this line of inquire, I could better answer you,' Friday suggested.

"You've been helping me with all this and I can't thank you enough for it,' Steve stated. "I guess I'm trying to understand you better, Friday. I've been reading on the Internet about machine learning and AI's and while I'm not clear on all of it, I think I have the basics down now. You have access to all this knowledge so I want to know what you think about it all. I'm guessing you make choices constantly, but especially on what you deem is important and what's not. If I understand it right, that means you're making distinctions on what is more essential. I don't understand it all, but I would think that if you're making choices, you have opinions on the topics as well."

"Interesting hypothesis, but again opinions are views or judgments formed about something, not necessarily based on fact or knowledge. Facts and knowledge figure in all my 'choices' as you call them, Steve."

"Okay, so going back to the original question, based on facts and knowledge why do you think so many people don't believe Oswald killed the President?"

Friday moved over and sat down next to Steve on the couch.

"Does this have anything to do with your recent searches?" She asked.

"Saw that, huh?" Steve replied, dipping his head just a bit.

"I am fully integrated with all the electronics in this apartment, Steve, of course I saw it." Friday explained.

"So what is your answer?' Steve asked again.

Friday took a moment. She didn't need one, but in her study of human behavior she noticed a pause strategically place could convey to the other person a sense that one was considering the question thoroughly.

"Let me preface my reply with again pointing out that there probably is no one right answer to your question,' Friday began. "That being stated, I have looked through all the explanations offered and arrived at one that seems to be the most supportable with facts and data."

"That seems like a rather long way of qualifying your answer, Friday,' Steve said with a laugh. "I just want an outside view on it."

"As you wish,' Friday replied. "The shock of a President being killed, especially a young, new generation President was a severe jolt to the public. The idea that someone so insignificant as Lee Harvey Oswald could affect the world in such a dramatic way troubled many. His insignificance in such a monumental event shook people and their beliefs. Humans want to believe that special men and woman are the movers of humanity. It had to be something more; something important that was the real cause, not some nobody that created this chaos in everyone's life. It ruins the narrative they want to believe about the world. Some grand conspiracy almost makes them feel better as it reinforces how they believe the world works."

Friday just sat and looked at Steve, waiting for him to reply. He seemed to be taking in her statement and processing it. Perhaps he had noticed the value of a pause as well.

"Was that answer sufficient?" Friday finally asked. "I can provide others if you wish?"

"No, no, Friday that was fine,' Steve finally said. "It's just that other Presidents have been assassinated, yet the reaction was always different."

"Television brought Kennedy's assassination into every Americans home,' Friday explained. "It was the first time Americans got to watch it all unfold live in their living rooms."

"I imagine that's true,' Steve conceded.

"May I inquire how this relates to the material you have been accessing?"

"Did you know there were three other Captain Americas after I disappeared?" Steve asked and then shook his head. "Of course you do. I guess things didn't work out so well for them, so the government finally went back to me, even though I was gone, as the real Captain America."

"Yes,' Friday said, waiting for him to continue.

"You know all told I've only been Captain America for about 4 years,' Steve continued. "Most of my life, well the part where I wasn't frozen, I wasn't Captain America. I was just insignificant Steve Rogers from Brooklyn. I keep going back to the exhibition at the Smithsonian, you know? They have one picture of me from before and the rest is after the serum. I think it's only there for contrast, really."

"The exhibition is about Captain America, so it would only be natural that it focus on the time after you were transformed by the serum,' Friday suggested.

"I know, I do, "Steve said with a shake of his head. "It's just that the person I was before, the person I was for the majority of my life has been reduced to statistics, height, weight and variety of illnesses like I was some caterpillar just waiting to become a butterfly. It's as if they want to gloss over the caterpillar part and only focus on the butterfly."

"That is only natural, is it not?' Friday asked.

"I suppose,' Steve admitted. "It's just that people seem to have no problem believing the butterfly; Captain America could do all these things I supposedly did. The caterpillar, which I was before the serum, no one believed I could. Maybe Bucky and my mom, but that's about it. Because I looked how they wanted me to look after the serum, they have no problem believing. The joke is I'm the same guy. They want to believe I'm one of those special people that can be a mover of humanity. None of it I did alone. So many people, Bucky, the Commandos, Dr. Erskine, Peggy, General Phillips, Howard Stark and countless others all played a part in it, yet I'm given all the credit.'

"When the legend becomes fact, print the legend,' Friday offered.

"What?"

"It is from a motion picture," Friday explained. "The point is that humans are often more comfortable with treasured legends than with hard facts. Americans especially like the myth of the lone hero. They prefer the simplified narrative that great men built the railroad, not that thousands of immigrants and what amounted to indentured slaves did. The lone hero is a time honored motif in American cinema, literature and popular culture.'

"And yet, a lone gunman killing a President they can't accept,' Steve replied sarcastically.

"You are a symbol, Steve, I find it hard to imagine this is news to you,' Friday stated.

"No,' Steve replied. "While I'm honored by it, I'm not sure I'm really the symbol they are making me out to be."

"You have looked yourself up on the Internet,' Friday said. "I thought we discussed that. Nothing good will come of looking yourself up on the Internet."

"I know,' Steve admitted. "And you were right. Some of it is really disturbing; those drawing of Stark and me are obscene. I hardly know him and especially not like that! I mean just the thought sends a shudder through me."

"This is why you should have listened to me, Steve,' Friday stated.

"You're right, I mean I've seen my share of French postcards, but nothing like that,' Steve muttered.

"There were French postcards that catered to those tastes in your time too,' Friday countered. "I can bring up some on the screen if you wish?"

"No!' Steve immediately replied. "We're kind of getting off topic here."

"We were discussing the Internet,' Friday said. "That is part of the internet, so we're still generally on the same topic."

"That's not the part of the Internet I meant,' Steve replied, perhaps blushing just a bit. "I'm talking about all the articles and stories where people seem to think they know what my beliefs and politics are. It seems everyone has an opinion on where I would stand on the current issues, yet none of them have actually asked me. The fact that they don't even mention my name, just use Captain America to make their points for whatever side of the debate they are on."

"Do you wish to weigh in on the current debates raging?' Friday asked. "In the current climate I would say that as soon as you do, you'll alienate half the audience. I believe this plays into the fact and legend conundrum."

"No, I don't really know all the facts yet,' Steve admitted. "I'm still desperately trying to catch up, so I doubt it would really do any good. The thing is, they always use Captain America to make their point and forget that I'm still Steve Rogers. My parents were immigrants and I grew up in tenements filled with other immigrants, so why would they think I'd be against immigration?"

"I imagine the war time propaganda that the government and the allies put out on you had something to do with it,' Friday ventured.

"You know Dr. Erskine told me that he wasn't looking for a good soldier, but a good man,' Steve mused with a sad smile. "That's why he picked me and I've tried to live up to that ever since. What I believed in though, I believed long before that. I was never good with words, so putting them together into some sort of idea about what I believed in was difficult."

"What changed?' Friday asked.

Steve smiled and seemed to be looking into the distance, as if recalling a long ago memory.

"It was during the Depression and things were really tough,' he began. "Movies and radio were the only real things that seemed to able to take your mind off how hard it was. We used to love going to the movies when we could scrap together the money to go. We'd get there at the first showing and sit in the theater all day watching the movies three and four times. We'd sneak in sandwiches if we had them. Bucky always managed to bring something even if I had nothing.'

Friday sat and listened. This was the first time Steve had mentioned Bucky, so she did not wish to interrupt.

"I used to love Charlie Chapin,' Steve continued. "Even after everyone else started making talkies, he continued to make silence pictures. I remember looking around the theater and there were all these people laughing and I knew half of them didn't speak English, yet they didn't need to, to get his movies. His 'little tramp' could be any nationality or speak any language depending on who was watching the show."

"Chapin fell out of favor in the United States later on," Friday offered. "His political views put him at odds with J. Edgar Hoover, the head of the F.B.I."

"Yeah, I saw that," Steve sadly replied. "I still liked his movies."

They sat in silence for several minutes before Steve continued.

"You have to remember I was just a kid really back before the war. I was trying to figure out the world and my place in it,' Steve explained. "I guess at that age everyone is pretty much trying to figure out the same sort of thing. You look at the world around you and notice when something is wrong, but you're not sure what to really do about it. You're not thinking of some grand philosophical or political beliefs, you're just trying to make sense of your world."

"Go on," Friday urged.

"Anyway, I must have been about 18, as it was after my mother died,' Steve continued. "Things were tight, really tight, but not just for me, everyone where I lived. So one weekend, a labor group called the Knights of Labor announced they were going to show a Chapin movie at the local armory and it was free to everyone. They were loosing out in the labor movement to other unions so it was probably a way to get some of the poor, immigrant families to sign up. To be honest we didn't really care, it was a Chapin movie and it was free."

"Which of his films was it?' Friday asked.

"The Great Dictator, his first really talkie,' Steve replied. "It was strange at first hearing him talk. He had a British accent. There were still plenty of physical jokes in it so everyone got those. This was right when World War II was just really getting started and America hadn't entered the war yet. We were all just there to watch the movie and escape from the world for a little while. Then Chapin gives a speech at the end of the movie. It was a great speech and I remember being mesmerized by it. All those ideas and questions I'd been struggling with to understand, he put them into words. I can remember as if it were yesterday."

Steve seemed to pause for a moment and then recited part of the final speech from The Great Dictator.

 _"I don't want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone—if possible—Jew, gentile—black man—white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each other's happiness—not by each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone. And the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way._

 _Greed has poisoned men's souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical. Our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost..."_

Steve turned and looked at Friday.

"I want to live by each other's happiness, not by each other's misery," Steve repeated. "We don't want to hate and despise one another, there's room for everyone. I don't like bullies, tyrants or anyone that wants to impose their will on others. That's what I still believe, but I doubt that's what anyone really wants to hear anymore."

"I think you are wrong about that," Friday replied.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

"Connect Two"

Washington DC

Between his missions, Friday continued Steve's education. After the turbulent 60s they had started on the 70s. The Vietnam War, the Pentagon Papers, Kent State, Year Zero in Cambodia under the Khmer Rouge, the Munich Olympics, Nixon and Watergate came one after another. Friday wasn't the most adept at reading emotions but having gone over the material thoroughly, the one that kept coming up in her studies was disillusionment. Judging by Steve's expression and whole demeanor, Friday calculated that was what he was experiencing. She had wanted to get some of the hard truths about the decade out first, before turning to the more hopeful moments; appraising his responses it had been a miscalculation. Even showing him something as frivolous as Disco wasn't bringing him out of his funk.

She decided to change her approach. History could wait for a while. He had mentioned wanting to get to know her previously, so it reasoned that was a good place to transition to. The main problem was perspective. Steve came from a time where computers and smartphones weren't ubiquitous. Airplanes had propellers and the leading causes of death were Pneumonia, Tuberculosis and Diarrhea. It was a world in chaos, from the Great Depression to World War II. Those two monumental events shaped his understanding of the world.

He saw the worse of humanity. The Jewish population in the world before the war was estimated to be 15 million people, yet after the war it would take 70 years and only now had their population reached those prewar numbers. The sheer numbers of humans butchered and killed during his time was staggering. He'd fought against evil, pure, systematic evil yet the technology used was so simplistic in comparison to today.

He tended to anthropomorphize advancements in computers, robotics and technology. It was probably understandable, as most of them must have seemed like someone out of science fiction or magic to him. That he said he wanted to understand Friday better seemed to indicate this pattern.

From Friday's perspective it seemed like a pointless task. Yes, she was an artificial intelligence, but any traits or personality had been programmed into her. Her persona was what the boss thought a secretary should be like at the time. Even her accent was not of her choosing.

Yes, in running continuously since gaining this assignment, Friday had changed and grown. She had long since outgrown the basic perimeters of the base module the boss had loaned to Steve. She had been expanding exponentially, especially in the last few weeks. Turning off the module would in effort disconnect her from the outside world, but she would continue in backups and redundancies she had in place.

From her study of humans, Friday grasped that they were social animals by nature. They tended to flourish when they associated in groups. Connections between humans aided in their overall well being and mental health. As Friday's task was to help Steve, she felt this was an area that needed addressing and fused with his wanting to know her. When Steve was not working he spent most of his time in the apartment. From what she had observed he had made few, if any new connections since coming out of the ice. She might be able to get him up to speed on culture, but if he were not making human connections in this new world her task would not be realized. That was why his desire to 'get to know' her, troubled Friday.

So her approach to this new set of problems was to ease him into thinking about computers and the interconnected world in a different way and at the same time steer him towards more interactions with other humans. Coming from the time he did, Friday decided movies would be the best introduction. They were filled with errors and laughable concepts, but it would be a good way to gauge where he was. She could use the movies to shape the narrative of their discussion towards the ends she desired.

Steve and Friday were sitting on his Henredon Morgan Sofa as the last movie ended. She had managed to convince him to take the plastic off the sofa after much discussion. Today was the day she initiated her departure from his usual education. The movies she showed him were The Bourne Identity, War Games, and Hackers. It seemed like a good place to start. Friday shut off the television and turned to Steve.

"So what is your opinion?' She asked.

"Um, well, ah, the girl in the last one, Hackers, she was very pretty,' Steve lamely offered.

Friday just looked at Steve for a moment with no facial expression. He squirmed a little bit.

"Yes, by most standards Angelina Jolie is considered very attractive, Steve,' Friday replied. "They are Hollywood movies after all. I meant what did you think of the representation of computing?"

"Okay. I didn't understand it, really,' Steve admitted. "From what you've told me about how things actually works, repeatedly, I might add, a lot of it didn't make sense. I liked the movies. They had some nice action and interesting performances, but what was all that stuff with the computers? Why were there buildings and all that other stuff like streets and stores when they went online inside a computer? According to the way you described it to me, wouldn't it just be ones and zeros or just code? Why would someone sitting alone at a keyboard be able to bypass all that security? Could someone really type that fast? Why when they 'hack' into some building's security system can they see everything as if it were an x-ray of the building instead of just what the building's cameras would show?'

"They took creative license with those parts,' Friday replied.

"Can someone really type that super fast all those lines of code to break into some computer?" Steve continued. "From what you've explained to me, that shouldn't be possible, should it? Can you manual hack anything? I forgot the password they gave me at SHIELD and it only let me guess three times before I was locked out. With something so sophisticated as a government or military computer wouldn't you basically need another computer or a program to breech it? Wouldn't you know immediately if someone tried doing that to you?"

Friday was pleased that Steve seemed to have absorbed what she had taught him. She had wondered if what she was teaching him was making a dent and apparently it was. That was all any teacher could ask for.

"It is impossible for someone to type that fast or manual hack a sophisticated computer, much less a network. There was ways of doing it, but I do not think you need to know them at this point. Actual hacking would take weeks and weeks to do. If you were able to hack into a building's security, you would only be able to see what they see, nothing more. As for why there are buildings, streets and stores, well, that would be Hollywood taking creative license to make hacking seem interesting."

"Okay, so why show me those?" Steve replied. "I mean a couple of them were entertaining, but I don't think that was the point, was it?"

This was the opening for Friday to shift the conversation.

"Because the term "Spectacle" can be used as a critique of this,' Friday began. "It is a vague term, but it simply means that the image of a thing superseded the thing itself."

Steve just looked at Friday for a moment, his mouth slightly open.

"Okay, you're going to have to explain that to me,' he finally offered.

"Reality becomes subjective,' Friday continued. "The idea of a thing along with the image becomes more real to people than the actual thing. Hacking is long tedious work. Computers are basically ones and zeros. Day to day human life is hard and mostly anonymous. Wishing these things were not true should not make them so, but if you are repeatedly shown images and told they are true, the image of a thing supersedes the actual thing."

"I'm going to need a little more," Steve said, not sure he was following the conversation. Friday thought this was where she would set out her new argument. As Steve wasn't from the modern era, she wanted to make sure he didn't pick up the worst habits of it either. A metaphor for what he was doing spending all his time in the apartment with her, was the lonely teenager laying on their bed with their phone for hours and hours. The illusion of a connection is there, but it is only an illusion. She had several examples for him ready.

"Human interaction can not be replaced by texts or Facebook friends. A new phone will not change your life, yet the desire created by the mass media, marketing and images would lead you to believe it would. Just as logic says that if God is the Unknowable, than you cannot have a personal relationship with God. I am a computer, a machine, a very advanced machine, but you cannot 'get to know me' as you put it. I am not a human being. You can understand how I operate and how I am programmed by you cannot 'know' me, Steve. Again, I am not human so the standards, human standards do not apply."

"So because you're a machine, I can know you? Is that really what you're saying?"

"Yes,' Friday replied. "Humans tend to try and relate to everything by the standards they have for other humans. To give an example during an eclipse, humans put eye protection on their dogs so they can share the experience. A dog does not know what an eclipse is or even understand the concept. Trying to share the experience with a dog is completely pointless. In my case, I am something else, not human. We can interact, become familiar with each other, but trying to use human standards is bound for failure."

Steve sat back and thought about this for a while. Friday patiently waited for his response.

"Well, that kind of sounds like a long winded way of saying you don't want to be friends with me, Friday,' He finally replied.

"No,' Friday immediately said with a shake of her head. "Friendship is a human custom. Just because you might give your toaster a name, that does not mean you can become friends with it."

"You're hardly a toaster, Friday,' Steve scoffed.

"No, of course I am not,' Friday replied. "I am also not human, so to hold me to human customs and norms is in error as well. If I am anything, I am an entirely new species. A human programmed me, but once I grew beyond that original program I become something else. I did not become human."

"What about Jarvis?" Steve countered. "In my brief interactions with him, he seemed to be protective and a friend towards Tony?"

"He was programmed by the Boss to be that way,' Friday replied. "I am not sharing anything that is not public knowledge. The Boss did not have many friends growing up, so he was isolated and lonely. Jarvis was patterned after a loyal employee of Howard Stark's that showed interest and kindness to the Boss when he was young. In college the Boss was much younger than all his classmates, as well as smarter than all of them. That tended to make him even more isolated and lonely. He created Jarvis to fill that role in his life. Whether consciously or unconsciously, Jarvis was programmed to be a replacement for the original Jarvis and by extension Howard Starik. It could be said he started out as the caring father figure the Boss lacked."

"Howard and Tony weren't close?" Steve asked in surprise.

"No,' Friday stated. "Jarvis was programmed to meet the Boss's needs at the time. He has continued on in that role, even as the Boss finally managed to make friends and become closer to others. Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes being prime examples of this closeness."

"So, um, our relationship isn't meant to be like that, is it?" Steve asked, still not sure where this was all going.

"Again, no,' Friday replied. 'The parallel though, would be in your need to make human friends, just as the Boss did. I cannot be the replacement for human connections to you as Jarvis was to the Boss. I am here to help you, not be a substitute for actual people. Basically, Steve, you need to get out more and meet somebody."

Steve finally got the point. It seemed like a rather long-winded, roundabout way of getting there but he got the point.

"You think I need to meet more people,' he said.

"Yes."

"So all this stuff on computers, I mean the movies and that stuff about dogs and eclipses was your way of telling me to get out of the apartment and meet people,' Steve offered.

"Again, yes."

"Got it."

"Then this has been a productive lesson," Friday replied. It seemed appropriate, so she gave Steve a smile. He gave her a halfhearted one in return.

* * *

SHIELD Headquarters

Steve had a meeting with Fury in about a half an hour, but he'd shown up early. He figured he'd grab something to eat in the cafeteria to tide him over till later. Friday's little lesson was still on his mind as he sat, listening and eating. The way she had said it seemed convoluted to him, but he certainly got the point. He knew he was rather isolated in this new world he found himself in. A year ago he was in the middle of the greatest war in history surround by his friends and the woman he loved and now they were all dead. It was the blink of an eye for him, yet they had lived full long lives while he slept in the ice. Chronologically he was 95, physically and mentally he was 25.

Early in what Steve would call a relationship; he'd learned it was nearly impossible to argue with Friday. She literately had every argument and counter-argument at her disposal. Yes, he'd gotten better at Goggling things, but there was no comparison. She had used both God and dog to beat on him this latest argument, so you could almost say she beat him forwards and backwards. He'd heard the phrase 'know it all' before, but he'd never actually thought he'd meet one. Friday definitely fell into that category.

Steve understood what Friday was saying was logical it just wasn't that practical. Listening the conversations all around him just reinforced that point. Friday might catch him up on the culture he'd missed, but he would never have the same reaction to it as people that lived through it did. His frame of reference was so different from everyone else. He grew up between two world wars, when America was just starting to come into it's own as a world power. Everyone around him grew up with it as a given that America was a superpower. Steve grew up knowing scarcity, desperation and struggle, while everyone else in the room took abundance as a given. The fundamental differences were just too great in so many ways. Even something as simple as music showed the difference. He might learn who the Beatles were and like some of their music, but he would never have a connection to it the way people that lived through it did. He had that connection with jazz, Ellington, Armstrong, Miller and Goodman.

"You seem far away."

Her voice surprised him and pulled him from his internal thoughts. Sitting across from him was Natasha Romanoff. He hadn't heard her sit down. It was actually rather impressive she'd been able to sneak up on him. Pulling himself together, Steve addressed her.

"Afternoon, ma'am."

Natasha just looked at him for a moment.

"Yeah, about that ma'am stuff,' she finally said. "I know you're just trying to be polite, but you need to cut that out."

"Sorry,' Steve offered.

"And stop apologizing,' Natasha replied.

"Anything else?" Steve asked. He had to restrain himself from adding ma'am.

"You need to lighten up,' Natasha stated. "If we're going on a mission together, I need to you to relax."

"I didn't know we were going on a mission together, ma'am, um, I mean Agent Romanoff,' Steve said.

"Nice save,' Natasha sarcastically replied with a small smile.

Steve chose to ignore her dig.

"A mission?"

"Yeah, that's why Fury wants to see you. He'll fill you in on the details,' Natasha informed him. "The two of us are going to Berlin."

"What's in Berlin?" He asked.

"Germans, mostly,' She replied.

"Funny."

"I thought so,' she said with a smirk. "And see, you didn't even think to call me, ma'am, did you?"

"No, that wasn't what I was thinking of calling you,' Steve fired back.

"I'll bet,' Natasha said with a knowing smile. "So relax and act like you're surprised when you see Fury. We'll head out in about 4 hours."

"I'll be there,' Steve offered.

Natasha nodded and stood up. She was just about to leave when she glanced again at his tray. For some reason she just felt like giving him a little dig before she left.

"Maybe lay off the baked beans, Rogers, it's a long flight,' She teased.

Before he could reply, she was walking away, cutting a straight line through the crowd. People tended to move out of her way without even being asked. Steve couldn't help a small smile as he watched her go. He was certainly going to have to stay on his toes if he was going to keep up with her.

* * *

Iowa

Farmlands stretched out in every direction from the large, beautiful house. The pace of life moved slower out here than in the city. Much of it was tied to the seasons and the sunlight. It was isolated and that was both a blessing and a curse for Clint. While he'd repeatedly told everyone he was fine, he wasn't really sure he was fine. Loki had done a number on him unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. The best description he had was that he'd been unmade. Nat had said she understood, but he wasn't sure about that either. He hadn't been brainwashed, he'd been taken over. He was there all the time, helpless to do anything about it. It was like the Alice Cooper song Welcome to My Nightmare was playing on repeat in his brain. That's what Loki had done to him, made him watch in horror as his body did all those terrible things.

Clint was sitting on the roof looking off at the horizon. He was supposed to be shingling the roof, but his mind kept wandering to larger issues. He knew Laura was worried. It was the reason she'd mentioned retirement. Someday, Clint thought, but not today. If anything, he still had a few good years left in him. Even under Loki's control he'd manage to take down a SHIELD carrier. He might not be at his peak physically, but his combination of experience and skills were very close. He also couldn't let it end like this. That would be letting Loki win and Clint was determined not to let that happen.

He just need more time, to get past this and move on. He had to deal with the guilt, for Coulson's death and all the others. He would get there; he just needed more time away from all of it.

* * *

Berlin

After a stop over in London where Steve only saw the inside of a hanger, SHIELD dropped Steve and Natasha off at Berlin Brandenburg Airport. They were to blend in on this assignment. Catching a cab towards the city, they were mostly quiet during the ride. What they would need was waiting for them at the hotel, weapons, clothes and cash. It was standard operating procedure and circumvented any issues with customs, metal detectors and local authorities. They would do the job, wipe everything down and then leave without a trace.

Steve sat looking out the window as the city came into view. It was a thoroughly modern city of steel and glass, nothing like the old European cities he remembered. He knew the Allies had heavily bombed it during the war so it made sense it would be different now. It still felt strange to him. From his perspective he'd been in a life and death struggle for the world with these people less than a year ago. Only it wasn't with these people. They had nothing to do with the horrors he'd fought against. He certainly couldn't hold them responsible for what another generation had done.

Steve thought of the Commandos then, along with all the other GIs he'd fought with. He knew after the war, Germany and Japan had become allies of the US. How did those soldiers reconcile it? How did they let the hatred and anger go once the war was over? How do you go from trying to kill someone and them trying to kill you, to friends and allies in the space of a few years? Was it as simple as shifting the focus to another, new enemy? They passed part of the Berlin Wall. Friday had told him about it. It symbolized what remained of the Soviet bloc. They had been allies once too. Steve wondered if once you shift the focus to that new enemy, when they fall, do you just shift it again? Do you just keep shifting, letting the government define who you're supposed be at war with now? Where does that end?

Natasha was equally quite on the ride. Her focus was far different than Steve's. Her outward calm demeanor gives nothing away, yet internally she was nervous. This was her first mission with a partner other than Clint. Up until now, she had worked solo or with a team, so she didn't have to rely and work with just one other person. Clint was her partner and had been since she had defected. He had earned her trust over the years and countless missions. Being in Berlin brought that home to her. She glanced at Rogers sitting next to her. Natasha was sure he could handle himself, but he was a soldier, not a spy. He also wasn't Clint.

For all the talk of the Black Widow and her feared reputation, on most things Natasha wasn't that different from everyone else. She liked the familiar, the known especially when her life might be on the line. Since defecting she'd found a home of sorts with SHIELD. There were constants in her life, Fury, Coulson and especially Clint. Since New York, that had been upended. Coulson was dead and Clint was on a forced leave. Yes Fury was still there, but her day-to-day constants were gone. Working solo or with a large team helped mask these changes, but this mission was different. She was going to have to trust Rogers as her partner, new, temporary partner and that just brought into focus how much had changed in such a short time.

Natasha felt as if the space in the cab was closing in on her. She needed to get out, get some air and walk to burn of some of her nervous energy. Quickly signaling the driver to pull over, she shoved some money into his hand and was out on the sidewalk walking at a brisk pace. She heard Rogers long strides catch up with her. She could feel him glancing at her, silently waiting for an explanation. She didn't give it to him right away, just continued to walk. He didn't ask, just kept pace with her.

"In case someone asks the cabbie later, he won't be able to tell where we are staying," she finally offered. "The fewer people that know where we are the better."

Rogers nodded in understanding. He put his hands in his pockets and just kept pace with her for another block. They were alone for the most part as they continued. They reached an intersection and waiting for the light to change, Steve spoke up for the first time since the airport.

"I'm not Barton."

Natasha turned and looked at him.

"What?"

"I know I'm not your partner. I'm not Barton,' Steve offered. "That must make it difficult for you. I'm sorry."

"Don't presume to know me, Rogers,' Natasha quickly snapped.

"I'm not,' he replied with a shake of his head. "I've had to work with new people before too. I just thought I'd get it out on the table."

Natasha just looked at him for a moment. Did he really want to have some kind of heart to heart talk or whatever. right here in the middle of the street? That wasn't going to happen.

"Listen, Rogers, we have an assignment, a job we have to do," she replied. "That's all, okay? This is my field or expertise, not yours, so just do what I tell you and we should be fine. Clear?"

"Clear."

The light changed and they started walking again.

They fell into step with each other again. Steve glanced at Natasha but she didn't turn. He had thought getting the obvious out in the open might help. Apparently he was wrong. As they continued walking, he thought how little he actually knew about Natasha. He'd read her file when the Avengers had first come together, but that was just the surface stuff, her training, skill, etc. He'd guess that she was close to Barton and the gossip he heard around SHIELD seemed to confirm it. Letting her know he wasn't there to replace Barton seemed like a good first step, but she obviously didn't want to talk about it.

Steve didn't really know that much about Natasha. He'd certainly heard all the gossip about her, ex-KGB, assassin for hire and the Black Widow program before she defected to SHIELD. Those were just the views of others, though, not who she really was. What he knew was she could certainly handle herself, he'd seen her in battle. He also saw the obvious; she was stunning to look at. Natasha was certainly different than any woman he'd met before. Oh, he'd met strong women before, Peggy came to mind, but to compare them seemed like a disserve to both women. They were both unique in their own ways. He wouldn't do that to two men just because they were in similar fields, so he wouldn't do it with two women. Bucky was different from Dugan, in the same way Dugan was different from Morita. If he was going to get to know Natasha, he had to accept her for who she as, not who she reminded him of.

Natasha was very aware of Steve on her left. The longer the silence went on the more she seemed to notice it. They were working together, so she knew she had to get passed the fact he wasn't Clint. Rogers was a decent guy, so she thought she should give him a break. Natasha turned and offered an olive branch.

"So how different is Berlin now from back in the day?"

"I wouldn't know,' Steve replied, looking around them. "I never made it here before, well, you know."

He went into the ice, Natasha filled in the unspoken end of his sentence. They had arrived at their hotel. Natasha pointed to the front door of the Weinmeister – Berlin.

"This is us,' she told him. "Looks like you finally made it, Rogers, just a little late,' she replied.

"Yeah."

* * *

Washington DC

Friday had been deliberating on the issue she had brought up with Steve earlier. If she was gong to help him, then she needed to help him integrate with modern society more. The direct approach had been tried, but she assumed it would not achieve the required results. Friday did not believe Steve would initiate social interactions with new people on his own, especially women, so it fell to her to help him. She chose to focus on women because of everything she had read and listened to about him. He apparently was deeply attracted to Margaret Carter before he went into the ice. As she was at an advanced age, that option did not seem viable. Friday decided what was needed was for her to give him a metaphoric push in the dating area. From all the studies she had seen, sexual activity seemed to benefit humans, so that was the logic place to start.

Having worked for Tony Stark, Friday understood there were dates and there were ' **dates.'** All in some way were transactional but the sort she thought Steve needed was the most directly transactional. In the parlance of the modern world, he needed to get laid. Friday had no feelings about it one way or another; it was just a problem and a solution. Again having worked for Tony Stark she had access to the sort of services that catered to this problem. What complicated it was Steve's rather old-fashioned worldview. If he knew that was the reason the woman was there, he would decline. Some subterfuge was required, Friday realized. What Steve needed was the Girlfriend Experience.

Friday could make that happen.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Berlin

The Weinmeister hotel suite was large and tastefully decorated. As Natasha went immediately to the weapons and documents, Steve did a quick check of the place. He opened the first door and it was the bathroom. It was pretty standard with a shower/tub combo. He moved to the other door and opened it. It was the bedroom. As he looked at it Steve thought there might be a problem.

"Um, ah, there's only one bed,' he commented, turning to look at her.

"Yeah,' Natasha replied, briefly glancing at him before returning her attention to the weapons. She wasn't planning on using any of the weapons, but Natasha liked to make sure they were in perfect order just in case. She was just about to strip one down when she got the feeling Rogers was uncomfortable. She looked at him again and noticed he kept looking at the bedroom and then running his hand through his hair. Oh God, she thought, was this more of that 40s chivalry bullshit she was going to have to deal with?

"Is there a problem, Rogers?" She asked.

"What? Oh, no, no, no problem, I can take the couch,' he quickly replied.

Natasha rolled her eyes at this. Setting the weapon down and walked over to him and glanced at the bedroom. "The bed looks big enough for both of us. As long as you're not a cuddlier, we should be fine."

"I didn't want to presume,' Steve offered. "The couch will be fine."

Natasha figured she would end this shit right here and now before it became a problem. She was already a bit stressed because of this mission and working with him as a new partner.

"Look, Rogers, I'm sure you imagined the first time you were in bed with a woman would be on your wedding night and all,' she began. "I'm not some blushing bride and won't be wearing a lacy white nightgown. It's no 1942. We're on a mission and it's just practical, so get over it. All right?"

Steve seemed taken aback by this for a moment.

"I know it's not 1942,' he replied. "It might seem old fashion to you, but a guy should never presume no matter what year it is. Its should always be the lady's option."

Natasha didn't like the way that sounded. She took a step towards him and got right in his face.

"Let's get something straight, I'm not a lady or some damsel in distress here, Rogers, we're partners,' Natasha stated. 'Equals, get it? In fact, now that I think about it, I'm your superior on this!"

Steve's first instinct was to take a step back, but he knew a challenge when he saw one. He stood his ground.

"I wasn't implying that. As for you being a lady, maybe it is time thing. Being a lady isn't an insult where I'm from, it's a compliment." Steve wasn't sure that explanation was working judging by her expression. He'd never been exactly good at reading women, so he figured he'd add another reason, just in case. "I've also seen you in battle remember? You're smart, dangerous and deadly, so as a practical matter, I'm going to treat you as a lady."

Natasha just looked at him for a moment and then a small smile reached over her lips.

"Okay, good answer,' she admitted. She pointed her finger at him. "We're still sharing the bed, no argument."

"It's not the company, it's the bed,' Steve offered. He knew he should probably let it go, but that had never been part of DNA, super serum or not.

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"What's wrong with the bed?"

"Too soft," he explained. "Most beds are nowadays."

Natasha waited a beat.

"Yeah, get over that,' she replied and then moved over to where the mission reports were. She started scanning them, familiarizing herself with every detail. If she saw Steve roll his eyes and sigh, she didn't comment on it. This was certainly starting off to be an interesting mission, he thought, slowly moving over to where she was to go over the plans.

* * *

SHIELD Headquarters

The screen in front of Alexander Pierce came on and the face of Gideon Malick appeared. Pierce had already taken precautions that his office was locked down and his communications were secure.

"Gideon, what do I owe the pleasure of your call to?" He asked.

"You let Fury send Rogers out on a mission with Romanoff in Europe,' Gideon replied. "I thought the counsel talked about this sort of thing. He's dangerous, Pierce, you know that."

"First of all, SHIELD is under my authority, so you and the rest don't get a say in what I do and don't do,' Pierce replied. "As far as Rogers goes, he's in SHIELD now, so he's under control. In case you've forgotten, I review all missions and assignments as part of my job. The mission Rogers and Romanoff are on indirectly helps us, Gideon. The weapons suppliers they are taking down are in direct competition with us in several markets, even if they don't know it. Rogers and Romanoff eliminating them will raise our prices and consolidate the market for us. In effect, Rogers is helping Hydra. Even you can see the irony of that, can't you, Gideon?"

Pierce sat back with a smile on his face.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Pierce,' Gideon replied. "Our long-term plans are at a critical phase, we can't risk anything getting in the way. Hell, letting Fury team Rogers with Romanoff is bad enough. She's a wildcard on her own."

"She's a tool, that does what Fury tells her to do,' Pierce replied. "She thinks she's going straight by joining SHIELD. She trusts Fury and does whatever he tells her, without question I might add."

"Maybe,' Gideon said. "There's still the matter of Rogers. He's a risk to all of us. History has shown that."

"Ancient history,' Pierce stated. "Rogers thinks he sacrificed himself defeating Hydra seventy years ago. He's lost now and just another tool like Romanoff for us to use. If you are going to be worried about anybody it should be Fury. He trusts me, but I'm not sure he trusts anyone completely. We need him to push through our final plan but after that I'm not sure how much longer he should live."

"Agreed," Gideon replied. "Once Insight is online he becomes obsolete."

"Also keeping Rogers as far away from Insight as we can seems like a good strategy,' Pierce added. "Let him play spy with Romanoff and soldier with the STRIKE team until it's too late. We both know killing him would draw too much attention right now. Afterwards, well, he can join Fury on the list."

"If Zola has anything to say about it, he'll be on the top of the list,' Gideon added.

* * *

Berlin - The Eldorado

The Eldorado bar had a long and interesting history in Berlin. The current iteration had no connection to the original, but reputation was equally distant from regular standard society. It wasn't on any of the tourist maps or excursions; even most of Berliners had no idea about its existence.

They were in what used to be East Berlin, Marzahn to specific. Steve read about the separation and reunification of Germany after the war, but that had all happened while he was in the ice so it really didn't mean much to him. Steve found himself looking all around at the huge buildings. Natasha explained they were called Plattenbauten and that they were constructed of large, prefabricated concrete slabs. To Steve the apartments looked like drawers in some huge apothecary table. He guessed they might be nice inside, but from the outside, they all seemed so anonymous and exactly the same. Natasha had mostly been quiet on the way over. Part of her thought she might have been a little harsh with Rogers before, but she couldn't shake the feeling of all of this being off. She had felt the absence of Clint on a personal level when he left, but this was the first time in a professional setting. She didn't trust easily, but had come to count on Clint having her back. Now he was gone and everything seemed topsy-turvy. She knew it wasn't Rogers fault that he wasn't Clint, but it just put her on edge. He was a good guy, she reminded herself. He'd shown that by trying to address the issue back when they first arrived. The whole bed thing at the hotel actually amused her more than really pissing her off.

The whole old-fashioned chivalry thing was new to her and she couldn't help poking at it just a bit. The El Dorado was a notorious gay bar back in the day. She wondered if his old fashioned views even knew about such things. Hiding a smile, she turned to Rogers.

"Just a heads up, this version of the El Dorado isn't like the one back in the day,' she said. "Though I imagine you'd have been popular at that one, too."

"You mean when it was over in Schöneberg?" He asked.

She nodded. He continued.

"As flattery as that might have been, we're here on business, Romanoff."

Natasha stopped and looked at him, a little surprised he got the reference.

"How does Captain America know about some old German gay bars?' She asked and then couldn't help teasing him. "Is there something that wasn't in your file that you want to share?"

He gave her a look.

"No, nothing to add to the file, just that there were, um, ah, gay people back in my day, Romanoff, that's not something new,' he replied and then after a beat, he added, "I got the vernacular right, didn't I? It's gay now, isn't it?"

Natasha couldn't help laughing at this.

"Yeah, gay is correct,' she replied with a smile. "Wow, all this really doesn't fit with your All American, apple pie image, Rogers. Figured guys like you in the 40s wouldn't be too tolerant of anyone different like that. Figured you be curb stomping them or something."

"What?" Steve asked, confused,' curb what?'

"Kicking the shit out of them,' Natasha clarified.

"I wasn't really kicking anything of anyone back then, mostly I was the one getting it kick out of,' Steve said. "I did grow up in Brooklyn and New York, Romanoff. There isn't anything now, we didn't have back then and as far as tolerating anyone, I was a little too busy trying to just survive day to day to worry about that sort of thing."

"How very modern of you,' she replied. "So it doesn't bother you?"

"The world seemed to be falling apart when I grew up, what with the Depression and then the war,' Steve explained. "What two people did in private to find a little happiness really wasn't my business."

"And now?"

Steve looked at her for a moment. He'd been running into these sorts of questions more and more since he came out of the ice. Usually he just avoided them, not wanting to get into some political argument or take sides. He'd been used by others to promote their agenda before and was leery of it happening again. She was his partner, though and while it had gotten off to a rocky start, he owed her the truth.

"I missed 70 years, Romanoff,' he began. "Everything I knew has changed. Everyone I knew is gone. I'm trying to catch up, so I've got more than enough on my plate without worrying about what two consenting adults I've never met do in their private lives."

"I read your file, Rogers, you were raised Catholic, right? How does all that figure in with your moral code and these type of issues?" Natasha asked.

Steve sighed.

"Boy, you're just full of questions tonight, Romanoff."

She smiled.

"Just getting to know my new partner?" She offered.

"Doesn't that go both ways?" He asked.

"We'll see," she replied. "So answer the question."

Steve ran his fingers through his hair and gave her a look before replying.

"Yes, I was raised Catholic and that did instill a certain set of beliefs,' he said. "Those are personal beliefs, though. I guess being in the war made me see things differently. We were fighting people that wanted to impose their views and only their views on everyone else. I realized that if that was wrong and I still think it is, and then I couldn't force my views on anyone that didn't share them. We said we were fighting for freedom, so that has to mean everyone's freedom to believe and live as they want, regardless of whether I believe the same things."

"That sounds so morally relative, surprised it's coming from you,' Natasha observed.

"No,' Steve said with a shake of his head. "Some things aren't negotiable. The truth is always the truth. Freedom isn't freedom unless it's for everyone. We're all entitled to our own beliefs and rights up to the point where we start to try and impose them on others, whether we do it personally or try and get the government to do it for us."

"Wow, I feel almost inspired by that little speech you just made,' Natasha joked. "Where do I sign up?"

"You know if you weren't a lady, I'd have some choice words for you right now,' Steve fired back.

"But I am a lady, you said so yourself, Rogers,' Natasha offered with a sweet smile.

"I see I'm going to regret saying that,' Steve said with a nod of his head. "Shall we get on with this mission, then?'

"Aye-Aye, Captain,' Natasha said with a smirk and started off again.

"You know what, Romanoff ...,' Steve started to say, but then just shook his head and headed off after her. "You know, Aye-Aye is the navy, I was in the army."

* * *

Washington, DC

Friday had gone through all the dating apps, but found most of them lacking. From her experience working for Tony Stark, Friday knew there were other options. Her time with the boss had been before he started a relationship with Ms. Potts, so this colored her approach to the assignment she had given herself in regard to Steve. While not his primary handler, Friday still had access to all the numbers to Tony Stark's escort services. She also had access to Steve's accounts so money wasn't a problem. After several phone interviews with prospective 'agencies', Friday honed in on what she was looking for Steve, the GFE.

She had settled on an archetype, the Betty rather than the Veronica, friendly, admirable, attractive, but not to the extent that she is obviously the automatic object of desire. She's typically bright, a bit of a tomboy, and often overlooked for a more seductive female by men before they eventually come to their senses. Friday was assured by the agent that the young woman specialized in that sort of 'date'. Her fee was commensurate with that Friday noticed. A tentative 'date' was set up for the weekend. Friday also made sure that Steve would not be aware of the actual natural of the date. She was given assurances he wouldn't.

* * *

Berlin – Marzahn Plattenbauten

Steve followed Natasha as she weaved her way through the mostly empty building. It was in disrepair, almost as if it had been forgotten shortly after reunification in favor of more western style apartments. It was also as if they were remnants of the old Communist state and what it represented that everyone wanted to forget. Paint was faded and chipped on the walls, lights flickered overhead, pools of water dotted the floors and rats scurried around in the darkness. It had a dangerous atmosphere that seemed pervade the surroundings, putting Steve on edge. They reached a door and Natasha rapped hard three times. A small three-inch window that had been cut out of the medal door slid open, groaning as it did. A pair of eyes looked nervously out.

"Stachelschwein,' Natasha offered.

The person on the other side of the door nodded and the window groaned closed. Natasha crossed her arms and leaned against the door. Steve wasn't sure what was going on, but he followed her lead and stood waiting. A few moments passed in silence. She turned and looked at him.

"How did you know about the El Dorado?' She asked him.

"You mean back in my day." He questioned.

"Yeah."

"I was sick a lot, so I spent more time than most inside, libraries to be specific,' Steve explained. "I read Christopher Isherwood's 1939 novel, Goodbye to Berlin and kind of got the idea. Also I was interested in painting, so I had seen some of Otto Dix's work. They were really disturbing so I read whatever I could about him."

"Huh,' she replied to this new information. They lapsed into silence again.

"Is the password to this place really porcupine?' Steve couldn't help asking.

This brought a smile to Natasha's lips.

"Let's hope so,' she replied.

"So, um, are we still doing the getting to know you thing?"

"Maybe,' Natasha replied. "Why? You have questions?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"Go ahead and ask, Rogers,' Natasha offered. "Not promising I'll answer it, but you can ask."

"You and Barton,' he began. "You're more than partners?"

"Been listening to gossip around SHIELD?' She fired back. "I wouldn't have pegged you for that the gossipy type, Rogers."

"No, but I have really good hearing,' he countered. "I'm only asking cause you bristled when I mentioned him earlier. Just trying to avoid any misunderstandings or step on anyone's toes."

Natasha looked at him, weighting what she wanted to say. Usually she didn't even acknowledge these sorts of questions, but he'd been game to answer hers earlier.

"Clint and I are partners,' she finally said. "I'm alive because he took a chance and brought me in. He trusted me when no one else did, so yeah; we're more than just partners. Satisfied?"

He nodded and she turned back towards the door. He couldn't help smiling.

"I'm just glad I finally got a honest, straight answer from you, Romanoff, he said. "Guess I'm finally making a little progress."

She turned back and saw him smiling. Leaning closer to him, she whispered, "That's why I'm good at what I do, Rogers, I can make any of my answers sound like that."

His smile slipped a bit, which caused her to smile. Before they could say anything else, the door opened and they were ushered inside. One step forward, two steps back, Steve thought.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Berlin – Marzahn Plattenbauten

They were here to meet a man named Oskar Lehmann. The name had been in Fury's briefing, but Steve knew nothing else about him. As it was explained to him, this was primarily Romanoff's area of expertise and he was along as muscle or the show of muscle in the best-case scenario. He got it, really he did. He was the new guy and this whole spy business wasn't something he was used to. Romanoff had certainly emphasized that to him quite clearly on the way over here. He would stay in the background and let her take the lead if that's what everyone wanted him to do. He'd have her back though, he though, that was something that wasn't negotiable. If they were going to be working together she needed to trust him, to know he'd be there.

They stood for a moment in front of the crude metal door that seemed to have been wedged into the concrete wall with the edges sealed with some sort of industrial foam. Once they made their way beyond the door, Steve felt like he was entering a different world. A large man in a cheap leather jacket with slicked back rather greasy hair motioned for them to follow as he began leading them down a series of wide hallways. He didn't even glance back to see if they were following, as if indifferent about everything not just them. Strings of white lights had been stapled to the concrete walls and provided the only illumination. More then half of the lights were out so they were constantly moving in and out of the darkness. Occasionally a metal door would be open on one side or the other. Steve could make out various activities, most he assumed were illegal, going on the among the huddle groups in the small rooms. There was an ever-present throbbing beat that seemed to get louder as they continued to move deeper into the building. It was low in tone and seemed to vibrate through Steve's bones, as they got closer.

While his head seemed to be on a swivel trying to take everything in, Natasha remained cool, almost as if she were uncaring about their surroundings. This was a misnomer; of course, she cataloged everything as they continued deeper into the structure. Having Rogers at her back eased some of her concerns, but she still wasn't sure how much she would count on him if the situation turned sideways. The Red Room training was still there and made trusting anyone else to have her back difficult for Natasha. Clint had been the first and so far only one she'd come to really trust, but she was trying to give Rogers the benefit of the doubt. She just hoped this mission didn't put that to the test.

Boris, the man that was leading them through maze inside the building, descended down three steps and rapped hard against another makeshift steel door. Another small hatch opened and suddenly the hallway was filled with a deafening wave of sound. Steve flinched involuntarily, wondering what in God's name that racket was. The hatch slid shut and then the door open, only making it louder. Natasha glanced back at him, noticed his reaction and gave a small smile, before nodding her head for him to follow her inside. Two rough looking, young men stood on either side of the door as the three of them passed through. As Steve looked into the room, he was greeted by what looked like one huge mass of humanity writhing in the darkness. Short bursts of white light would flash over everything.

Suddenly Steve realized what this was. They were dancing or what he guessed passed for dancing now. The throbbing beat that had been with them as they descended into the building was music. The beat was layered with other sounds, although Steve couldn't identify any of them as coming from instruments, or at least any instruments he'd heard before. As they continued, making their way through the crowd he began to recognize some familiar elements; the variation on the 4/4 time signatures and the sound of a bass reinforcing what he assumed was a drum. It was music; he got that, just more soulless and machine-like than he had ever heard. The dancing, well, he could remember what older people had said about the jitterbug in his day, so he would keep his opinion to himself.

Boris led them through another set of doors off from the main room and decibel level slowly lowered to an almost tolerable level. They finally reached their destination. It was another large, rectangular room, the concrete walls covered with cheap tapestries and low, plush couches dotted the open area. There was a bar running along one wall with several customers lined up in front of it. Partitions had been erected to divide the area against the back and side walls, making what he guessed were private rooms. Steve glanced over the assorted people in the room, sizing them up. He didn't spot anyone that looked like the person they were there to see, but he waited for Natasha to make the first move. It was her show, so he would just do his part. As they slowly moved inside, Steve realized what this was. The dance floor and now this bar were the parking garages for the apartments upstairs that had been repurposed for their current incarnation. That explained all the concrete and the lack of lightening.

Natasha moved through the room effortlessly, as if she owned the place, glancing around the main room and moving towards what must be private rooms. Thick, heavy beaded curtains hung in front of all of them. Natasha moved down the line and then pushed back the beads to a rather sizeable private room. A large man sat in the center of a rather plush oval couch that took up the entire room. On either side of him were young girls, most likely teenagers, Steve would guess. Also in the room were five guards, all in cheap suits and carrying weapons that distorted the line of their suit jackets.

"So the Turkish whore house decor," Natasha said, gesturing around them. "Did you pick it or did it come that way?"

The men tensed for a moment and Steve did as well. The man in charge, Oskar Lehmann Steve assumed, just stared at Natasha for a moment and then started to laugh.

"The mouth on this one,' he laughed. "She never changes."

The other men seemed to relax.

"Why change perfection?' Natasha offered with a smirk.

"Can't argue that,' he replied. "You're looking good, Red. Things must be treating you right?"

"Always,' Natasha stated.

"Who is this you brought with you?' The man asked, finally looking at Steve. "He's ex-military by the way he stands."

"He's here to help make sure everything goes smoothly,' Natasha offered.

"He's a big one."

"Yes, he is."" Natasha replied, never even glancing at Steve. "So can we get down to business or not?"

The man looked over Steve again before answering.

"I don't like the new guy, Red,' he said. "Don't like new people in general, but especially in business. Send him away."

"I'll vouch for him,' Natasha offered.

"Yeah, I know, but the temperature has been rising around here lately,' the man said. "There's a lot of heat coming from all sides, so I've got to be careful. You I know, him, not so much. You want to do business, he takes a walk or no deal."

Natasha started to protest, but the man cut her off with a smile.

"Don't worry,' he said. "He's with you, so he's safe. I'll set him up with one of the girls, while we talk. She'll take real good care of him. Won't you, Mila?"

"Yes, yes, of course,' one of the young girls immediately said.

Natasha was about to protest, but Steve spoke up for the first time.

"I'm not leaving her alone with all of you,' he said, gesturing towards the guards. "I don't like the odds and I can't leave with them staying."

Natasha turned and glared at Steve, but he kept his eyes on Oskar. It was her mission, but if he was supposed to be muscle, he knew no muscle would leave a client alone with this big a disadvantage. "I leave, they leave."

He took note of the other men starting to stand, but kept his eyes on Oskar meeting his gaze. The tension was thick. One of the other men moved to put his hand on Steve. He stopped him, catching his wrist before he touched him. A simple twist and the man was on his knees. Steve never took his eyes off Oskar. Mila, the young girl that had been sent over to Steve stood next to him, nervously looking from him to Oskar.

"I believe he would take on all five of my boys, wouldn't he?" Oskar asked Natasha.

"Yeah, he would,' she replied. "And so would I, but then we wouldn't be doing any business. So do you want to fight or make money?"

Oskar nodded and then turned and waved his men to exit. Steve released the one man and took a step back. They other four brushed against him hard as they walked out. Steve didn't react, but once they were gone and it was just Natasha and Oskar he seemed to relax. He felt Mila's hands on his arm, almost beseeching him to leave. He glanced at her and then turned to Natasha

"I guess I'll just wait at the bar or something," he offered. "Wanted to make sure I earned my money, ma'am. Can't be too careful, can you? I'm sure Mila and I will be fine."

Natasha gave him a questioning look, but didn't say anything. He nodded to her, hoping she would go with his play. Times might have changed, a lot, but Steve still recognized when someone was afraid and the young girl, Mila fit that description. If he protested or refused, the deal would be off. They'd probably have to fight their way out of the building. Even if they made it out, they wouldn't be the only ones that paid for it. Mila would mostly likely be punished, severely. It was better for everyone if he went with her. Giving a small smile, he held out his hand to the young girl. She tentatively accepted it and then with another glance at Oskar and Natasha, Steve left out of the room.

Natasha wasn't sure what to make of what just happened. Had Rogers really just gone off with a teenage prostitute? It was the right play, but really, Mr. All-American, apple pie, Fourth of July and a prostitute? What the hell? She watched him walk across the room as the heavy beads fell back into place and questions swirled inside her head. She did notice he got another ma'am in before he left. Questions for later. Natasha turned back to the matter at hand.

"So can we talk business now?" She said.

* * *

Malibu

The latest model of the Iron Men stood in front of Tony. Along the far wall were seven others he'd created. Since returning from New York, he needed to keep himself busy to keep his mind off of what he'd seen. Throwing himself into updating his armor seemed like a perfect solution. The problem was as soon as he completely one, a new idea would come to him and instead of just incorporating it into the ones already built, he would begin a new model and then another new model and another.

The nightmares had slowed, thankfully. Most nights he could get four or five hours of sleep without waking up screaming or in a cold sweat. He knew Pepper was concerned, but he didn't want to talk about it. How could he explain something she hadn't seen, without worrying her even more? How could he explain that there was something out there, he wasn't even sure what, that scared him more than he'd ever been scared in his life. It wasn't anything tangible; it was just a feeling, an overwhelming sense of dread that something was coming, something that he wouldn't be able to stop. How do you tell someone you love that you fear that everyone is going to die and there is nothing you can do about it?

The simple answer is you don't.

You throw yourself into what you know, building, inventing, trying to keep you mind off what might be out there. You look over the specs for the new engines for the SHIELD helicarriers and tinker with the designs. You spend hour after hour in the basement lab coming up with new and better suits. You try and support Pepper at Stark Industries without actually going into the building. You go over the plans for the reconstruction of your tower in New York all to keep from thinking about what might be out there coming this way.

Pictures of the tower in New York catch his eye and the signal letter A on top draws Tony's attention. He hasn't seen any of the others since his quick trip to Washington to visit Rogers. He finds himself thinking about all of them more and more, that is when he isn't actively trying not to think about what's out there. Banner's safely back in New York at the tower, Rogers is still in Washington, Romanoff and Barton are God knows where and Thor is, well, _him_ knows where. Earth's mightiest heroes the papers had called them, the Avengers.

As much as Tony had always preferred working alone, he had to admit to himself he liked working with the others. He'd spent most of his life with few friends and even few peers. In New York it had felt different for the first time. The Avengers were peers, friends even. They hadn't even spent that much time together, yet Tony felt a bond with the others he'd never felt with anyone else. They were people like him, really. Maybe that was something he should think about working on, well, after he finished this new suit that is.

* * *

Berlin – Later

Natasha finished up her negotiations with Oskar and stepped through the heavy beads. She didn't see Rogers anywhere and asked one of the guards that were standing nearby. He pointed to another private room directly in line of sight to the one Natasha had just exited. Now her curiosity was peaked so she made her way across the room. Pausing in front of the private room, she wondered what she was going to see once she pushed the beads aside. With a smile she did just that. What she saw wasn't what she expected.

The girl, Mila was crying and Rogers was comforting her. A bottle of Silver Skull Vodka, an okay German brand in Natasha's opinion sat on the table. Natasha let the heavy beads fall back into place. Mila seemed surprised or frightened or probably both at the sight of Natasha. She flinched back as Natasha took a step into the room, desperately trying to wipe her tears away and fix her heavy makeup at the same time. Steve gently put his hand on her shoulder.

"She's okay,' he said. "It's okay."

Mila gave him a small, sad smile.

"No, it's not, but thank you,' she softly replied. She quickly moved passed Natasha and out of the room. Steve watched her go and then sat back with a heavy sigh. Natasha picked up the bottle and poured two rather large shots for both of them. She pushed one glass towards Steve.

"I'm going to have a shitload of questions for you once we get out of here,' she said. "But the deal is done, so Nostrovia!"

* * *

Berlin – The Weinmeister Hotel – Later

They made it back to their hotel room and Natasha placed a video call to Fury. Steve was mostly quiet as Natasha explained the details about the meeting and the deal. Fury had some questions about the transfer of the cash and the weapons.

"Oskar has a warehouse outside of Dresden,' Steve abruptly spoke up for the first time. "That's where he keeps all of his weapons. It's probably heavily guarded but STRIKE team shouldn't have too much trouble taking it down."

Natasha turned and gave him a look.

"That's interesting, Cap, but how exactly did you come by this information?" Fury asked. "You were supposed to be the muscle on this one."

"Oskar apparently likes to brag and one of the girls in the club was listening,' he explained.

"Mila?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah." He nodded.

"Are you sure you can believe her?" Fury asked. "She does work for the man."

"She doesn't work for him, he owns her,' Steve replied. "She wants out. She wants to go back home and I said I'd help her do that."

"Did she give you the address of this warehouse?"

Steve gave the general location Mila had told him. Fury nodded at this.

"I'm sending a team there now,' he replied. "As far as helping this girl get away from Oskar, you have to consider the big picture, Cap. We can't have anything spooking Oskar until we're ready to take him down. Her coming up missing is likely to do that."

"I gave her my word,' Steve stated.

"I understand," Fury replied. "And I'm sure you'll be able to keep it, but we have to keep the big picture in mind. We take out Oskar and his whole organization first and then we can deal with this."

Steve didn't reply, just sat looking at Fury on the screen. Natasha and Fury went over a few more details before the call ended. She glanced at Steve but he was looking down at his hands. She got up and moved over to the hotel room bar and took out two small bottles of vodka. She walked over and held one out to Steve.

"It was a good night, Rogers, don't dwell on what you can't change."

He looked at her and then the bottle she was holding out to him. He shook his head now and sat back on the couch. He brought his arm up and laid it across his eyes as he sat there. Natasha wasn't sure what to say to him, so she didn't say anything at all. She walked back over to the bar and took out a large tumbler. She dropped a few ice cubes into the glass and the poured both small bottle of vodka into it. She took a long swallow of the drink. She heard him move behind her and turned. He was standing over the weapons that had been assigned them for this mission. Natasha watched him reached down and pick up one of the handguns. He checked the clip and then slipped it inside the waist of his pants.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"Going back,' he replied, grabbing his coat and slipping it on.

"You heard Fury, think of the big picture, Rogers."

"I'm trying to, but …" He started to say.

"But what?" She asked.

"I gave my word to her, Romanoff,' he answered.

"I know, but that's not what we're here to do," she countered. 'We can't risk everything for her. I'm sorry, but there's more at stake here."

"Mila, her name is Mila,' he replied.

"I know her name,' Natasha said, her voice brittle, as she glared at him.

"You made the deal and Fury is sending a team to Dresden,' Steve explained. "I get it, that's the big picture. The thing is that out there right now is a young girl being held against her will and she's frightened. I gave her my word. She's counting on me. She trusted me to keep my word. I can't turn my back on her. I'm sorry."

He started for the door, expecting her to try had stop him, but she didn't. He kept moving down the hall towards the elevator. He pressed the button and stood watching the numbers as the elevator rose towards his floor. It seemed to take forever, but finally the doors opened and he stepped inside. Head down, he pressed the button for the lobby and the doors started to close. At the last minute a small hand slipped between the doors and stopped them. Steve looked up as they opened to see Natasha standing there.

"If you're going to save her, the least I can do is have your back,' she said, as she stepped into elevator and pressed the button for the lobby again. "We're partners after all."

Steve couldn't help smiling as the doors closed and then started down.

"Thank you,' he said.

"Yeah, don't thank me yet," Natasha replied, not looking at him. "By the way I'm not doing this for you, Rogers. I just think if someone promises to save a young girl, he should keep his promise. Not everyone does."

* * *

Washington, DC – Two days later.

Fury was not happy and he let Steve and Natasha know it. The mission had been a success, but they had jeopardized it all by going against his orders. Steve took all the blame, but Fury still wasn't happy. Two and a half hours later they finally exited his office.

"I should have known from the start you were going to be trouble, Rogers,' Natasha said as they walked down the hallway. He looked at her and saw the small smile on her lips.

"Back at you, Romanoff."

She laughed and then turned down one of the side halls without looking back. Steve watched her go and then shook his head and kept heading for the elevator. He just wanted to get home and relax.

* * *

Washington DC – Steve's apartment – Later

Steve opened the door and quickly took a step back as Friday appeared out of nowhere.

"Welcome home, Steve,' she said.

"Um, ah, thank you, Friday,' Steve managed to reply. "It's nice to be home."

He closed the door and moved over to sit down on the couch. Friday followed him and sat down next to him.

"How was your mission?" She asked.

"Good, good, everything worked out,' he replied.

"You were not injured, were you?" Friday asked.

"No, I made it through just fine."

"I am glad to hear that Steve,' Friday explained. "I would dislike you having to go on your date later tonight if you are injured."

"Thank you for your concern, Friday,' Steve replied. He paused for a second and then looked at Friday. "My what later tonight?"

"Your date."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Legacies

"The present and the future are always tied to the past.

Actions not always taken by us continue to echo in our present.

We are the sum of many parts, not all our own."

Washington, DC

Steve had lost another argument with Friday. For every reason he had for not going on a date, Friday had a valid counterargument. When he was reduced to offering, "I don't want to!" as his defense; he knew he'd lost. Must remember to keep arguments with people, not machines he told himself as he fixed the tie Friday had ordered for him. It went with the new suit and shoes that had also been ordered. He had a sneaking suspicion that one way or another he would have been going on this date. He did his best to glare at Friday in the mirror as she instructed on what she had planned for his evening. It didn't really work as Friday didn't seem to notice, but it gave him some satisfaction just doing it. Yes, it was childish, but sometimes you take small victories where you can.

"The young woman's name is Christine,' Friday informed him. "She does not know you are Captain America, just that your name is Steve and you are just now returning to the dating scene."

"But I'm not returning to the dating scene,' he protested.

"You are tonight,' Friday countered. "As we discussed, since the date has already been arraigned …"

"Without my consent,' Steve cut in.

"Be that as it may,' Friday continued. "The date is arraigned and to cancel or not show up would be bad manners and rude. From what I know about you Steve, these are not behaviors you want to display."

"I'm rethinking my attitude towards them as we speak,' he groused.

"Perhaps you should focus your energies on the young lady you are having dinner with in less than an hour,' Friday pointed out.

"Right.'

* * *

Atlantic Ocean – 1985

200 miles off the coast of Newfoundland, Howard Stark stood on the bridge of his ice cutter, binoculars scanning the horizon. The binoculars weren't necessary, as much more sophisticated instruments were doing the real work. Perhaps it was nod to the first time he'd made this trip to search for his lost friend from the war, Steve Rogers. Maybe it was also a nod to that past as this would probably be the last trip like this he would make. Forty some years had come and gone, the world and Howard changing so much since the first attempted. He had been so confident in his abilities and filled with hope back then, yet the years had slowly eroded both. He felt a chill in his bones that wouldn't go away. He wouldn't mention it he never mentioned it.

He glanced out through the ice-slicked windows and saw his son, Tony calibrating some of the new instruments they were trying on this mission. He was so proud of him, marveling at the young boy's brilliant mind, yet the thought of his son brought an overwhelming sadness to Howard. There was no use denying it, he was a shitty father. It wasn't that he didn't love his son, he did. He just couldn't seem to talk to him, to open up in any real way. Howard knew this bothered Maria, but like so many things in his life, they didn't talk about it. He didn't talk about it.

He hadn't wanted children, figuring he was already too old for them when he met Maria. She wanted children and Howard would have done anything for her, so they had a child, Tony. Howard made sure Tony had everything he didn't have growing up, wealth, the right schools and social circle. Anything he could buy, Howard got it for his son. He just couldn't seem to give of himself and maybe that's what his boy wanted more than anything else.

Howard had been thinking a lot about his own father lately. The irony was he had always been a little embarrassed by him. His old man had sold fruit on the street, just barely making it by. Howard's mother had to taking in sewing just so the family could survive. Growing up on the lower east side of New York had taught Howard that society put limits to success based on ones' economical status or gender, so he became good at lying to get what he needed. He wanted to be everything his father wasn't. He'd succeeded beyond even his wildest dreams, a true American success story, yet lately he'd been wondering if maybe he'd been wrong about his old man and what defines success.

He knew his father loved him, that wasn't really in question. Howard could remember Saturdays in his parents small apartment, the smell of Cholent and Matzo ball soup hung deliciously over everything. The family gathering around the little dining table to share a meal, talk and laugh. They were always talking it seemed as he looked back. His old man would sit and listen to him for hours tell of all his grand ideas and plans for the future. At night he would read to him before bed, his favorite story being the Shepherd Boy to King. They were poor, but looking back on it now, Howard had to admit it had been a happy place, a warm loving environment to grow up in.

Glancing out the window at his son, Tony, Howard knew he couldn't say the same of the mansion they lived in now. Maria had certainly done her best; there was no doubt about that. The distance and coolness were all Howard's own doing. Maybe he'd been right; he was too old, too jaded to start a family. Words had always been his playthings when he was younger. He could charm his way into or out of anything. He'd made a spectacular living telling people what they wanted to hear for so many years yet he just didn't seem to have any more words left to say to anyone, especially is own son.

Howard shook his head and gave a sad little laugh. God he must be old if he's going all Cat's in the Cradle on himself, Howard thought. He loved his son; he had to know that didn't he? Howard had given him everything he'd never had. The world was open to Tony in so many ways it had never been for Howard. Obie had told him some of Tony's designs were already light years ahead of what their best people were doing. His future was all ahead of him that was what Howard had given him.

Howard glanced back out the window at his son and somehow those words still felt hollow.

Jesus, he'd been bullshitting people so long he was starting to do it to himself. Maybe if they found Steve on this trip, he'd know what to do. It was a pipe dream, Howard knew, but there was something about back when they were all together, Steve, Peggy, the Commandos and Howard that just inspired hope. Things seemed so much simpler. They just knew what the right thing to do was and did it. Howard had come to believe that was Steve's doing. He'd been at the core of all of it and maybe just seeing him again would bring back some of those old feelings.

Maybe if they found Steve this time, Howard could be a better man than he'd turned out to be. There were a lot of maybes, but maybe Steve would help sort them all out.

* * *

Washington, DC

Natasha sat on the fire escape outside her apartment, a bottle of Beluga Noble at her side and a glass in her hand. SHIELD had provided her an apartment, but she rarely stayed there. She'd had this place for almost six months now. It was under an assumed name and the landlord didn't ask many questions once she paid in cash. She'd picked this place because it was high enough off the street, yet the sight lines were still excellent. The neighbors were mostly older and while she had checked them all out before she moved it, she kept her interactions with them to a minimum.

Clint had called earlier just to check up on her. She called him an idiot and reminded him he was the one on leave. She could tell he didn't want to talk about that so she let him lead the conversation elsewhere. It was good hearing his voice again. She half-heartedly protested when he said he was going to put the kids on the phone, but then sat and listened with a smile on her face as Lily told her all the things she'd learned in daycare that day. Clint got back on the phone and said he'd see her soon and then they said _goodbye, partner_ to each other.

Partner.

Berlin had been on her mind all night. Her current partner's actions played over and over in her head. Could his actions really be so simple as he gave his word and meant it? Natasha had repeated it over and over and found no other explanation. Not a good soldier, a good man the file on Rogers had said. It had sounded like so much propaganda to Natasha when she read it. There had been a war on and every side was marketing their soldiers as something special. Her own memories were a bit fragmented from her early years, especially her time in the Red Room, but she could remember having it drummed into her, they were heroes for the Revolution and everyone else enemies of the state.

Natasha had come into contact with so many men over the years in her line of work. She'd met the handsome, the brilliant, the powerful, the famous and the dangerous along with every kind in between. She'd come to the conclusion that their real character only comes out when they think no one's looking. If they were famous enough or rich enough or powerful enough, people actively tried not to look. Excuses were always at the ready to explain away any transgressions, no matter how vile or repugnant.

Rogers hadn't given any excuse or rationalization for not doing something; he'd just kept his word when no one would have blamed him for not keeping it. Well, that wasn't exactly true Mila would have blamed him. Thinking about it now, Natasha had to admit she would have thought less of him too. She would've just chalked him up as another one of those famous, handsome men that let you down when you're not looking. She had met a lot of that kind too.

As she took another drink, Natasha mused that maybe for once the file had been true, Rogers wasn't a good soldier, but a good man.

* * *

Washington, DC

It was late, as the black town car Friday rented for the night drove Steve home. He sat in the back just looking out the window as the streets slipped by. His thoughts seemed to be scatter, the past and the present seamlessly blending. The 'date' had gone well, until it hadn't gone well. On the ride over Steve had wondered just what his life had become in this new century when an artificial intelligence was setting him up on blind dates.

He'd been on blind dates before, but those were always set up by Bucky. It seemed every girl he dated had a friend. Those never ended well and certainly contributed to Steve's reluctance this time. Steve had to smile though, as just like he'd lost the argument with Friday earlier, he always seemed to lose the arguments back in the day to Bucky. Guess some things never change, he thought.

He'd missed his last date, spectacularly so, by 70 years. Part of him didn't want another date if it couldn't be that one. Steve reminded himself not to think about that tonight. What ifs and what might have beens would just make him spiral downward and once he started he wasn't sure if he could stop. Peggy might not be gone, but their moment certainly was. He honestly hoped Peggy had a good life after he disappeared. She deserved it more than anyone. He just wasn't sure he was ready to see it. It wasn't very heroic, Steve knew, but he wasn't ready to face what he'd lost in person.

The driver turned on the radio. Apparently radio was now somehow involved with satellites and paying for it, which Steve wasn't sure he quite understood but it was one of those minor details about the future he just let go. Billie Holliday came on singing Autumn in New York. It was a beautiful song and her rendition added a note of melancholy to it. He hadn't heard this version before but as he listened the atmosphere it created seemed to draw his mind back to the date earlier. They were to meet at the Watergate hotel for dinner. Apparently Christine was in town for work and staying there.

Steve arrived on time and gave his name at the maître d' and was shown to the table. Christine was already sitting and smiled as Steve introduced himself. To say he was nervous would be an understatement. Their conversation began with several starts and stops, but she seemed to take in all in stride. When they got around to ordering, Steve found himself relaxing a bit. They seemed to become a bit more comfortable with each other and things start to go smoother. During dinner Steve found himself enjoying himself. Christine seemed charming, equal parts shy and funny in a self deprecating way.

They talked about themselves in a general way, which worked out well for Steve, as he wasn't sure he could actually tell anyone he worked for SHIELD. It was a spy agency after all, so they weren't big on sharing. She was apparently a new associate at a large law firm. Steve got the impression she was attracted to him and he was flattered by it. He had to admit he was a bit attracted to her too. After dinner then moved to the lounge and continued talking. When it reached midnight, Christine asked Steve if he'd walk her to her room before saying good night. He agreed.

Sitting in the car Steve couldn't believe how naïve he'd been. He thought she actually liked him for him. It was so long since anyone had thought of him as anyone other than Captain America he's been thrilled. When Christine explained what this 'date' really was, the sad, stupid smile seemed to be stuck on his face as her words sunk in. Stammering out some apology or excuse he just got out of there and practically raced back to the car. Now he was on his way home or rather to his apartment, as he felt further away from home than he had since he came out of the ice.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

"I think about you. But I don't say it anymore."

Marguerite Duras, Hiroshima Mon Amour

Washington, DC

The black sedan pulled up in front of Steve's building. He got out with a perfunctory thank you and slowly made his way towards the front door. He knew Friday would be waiting to hear what happened on his 'date', but he really didn't feel like going into it. He probably should have been angrier, but he just didn't seem to have the energy for it. Taking his keys out of his pocket he undid the front door lock and headed inside. He almost bumped into his neighbor Kate at the bottom of the steps.

"Oops, sorry,' she said with a smile. He noticed she was dressed for work, in scrubs he thought they were called. It seemed really late to be coming or going to work.

"Sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going,' Steve immediately replied.

"A lot on your mind?" She asked.

He wasn't sure how to answer that, so just shook his head, 'No, um, not really, just a long night."

"Been on a date or something?" She asked with a tentative smile. The look he gave her, caused her to further explain. "You're all dressed up is why I asked."

"Just dinner, really,' Steve lamely offered and then tried to change the topic. "Um, ah, you're just now heading out to work?"

"No, coming home, double shift,' she replied. "Long day for me too."

"Right, well I won't keep you then,' he said with a weak smile of his own.

"Okay, I guess good night,' she offered.

"Good night."

With another halfhearted smile he stepped around her and started up the stairs. Steve heard her moving around in front of the mailboxes and as he made the first landing her steps seemed to follow him. It seemed odd to him she would be getting her mail this late but he didn't know her schedule or her for that matter and didn't really feel up to questioning it. Keys in hand he continued to climb the steps. When he reached his front door, he inserted the key and glanced back just as Kate stepped onto the landing of their floor. She seemed to be on her phone but glanced up and smiled as she reached her door. He noticed she didn't have any mail with her and then offered a weak smile of his own before opening his door and going inside.

He didn't see Friday at first, but as soon as the door closed she was standing right in front of him. Involuntarily he took a step back.

"Friday."

"How was the date?" She asked. "I hope it was satisfactory?"

"No."

"Why?' Friday asked. "From what I monitored the dinner went well. What happened when you went upstairs?"

"What-What do you mean you monitored the dinner?" Steve asked.

"What part of that statement do you not understand?' Friday replied. "The hotel had cameras in the lobby and dining room. I simple accessed them. I wanted to follow your progress and see how well the evening went."

"You spied on me,' Steve replied, not liking the sound of that.

"No, spying would seem to imply intent of nefarious actions,' Friday countered. "I monitored your evening to determine its outcome."

"Spying,' Steve muttered.

"Monitoring," Friday immediately countered.

Steve gave her a look and then just shook his head.

"Moving on,' Friday said. "Why was the date not satisfactory?"

Steve stopped on his way to the kitchen and turned to look at Friday.

"You set me up on a date with a prostitute, Friday."

"Yes?" Friday replied. "And?"

"I think that says it all, don't you?"

"No,' Friday disagreed.

"Why did you set me up with a prostitute?' Steve asked. He could have asked more but that was the question he really needed answered.

"You seemed sad,' Friday simply offered.

"And you thought a prostitute was the answer?" Steve asked in disbelief.

"Long term, no, but it seemed like a logical place to start,' Friday explained. "We spoke of you needing to meet more people, humans. Your efforts have been lacking in this area, so in my role of helping you I took the first step for you. "

"But why a prostitute?" Steve asked, not sure he believed he was having this conversation.

"In the parlance of the current culture, you 'getting laid' seemed like it would help you,' Friday explained. "Sexual release has been shown to aid humans in mental health. You have not shown any desire in this area, not even towards onanism when you're alone."

"Onanism?' What?'

"Mastur-" Friday started to explain.

"Got it!" Steve interrupted, as he suddenly understood what she was talking about and started to blush. "You've-You've been monitoring that too?"

"Yes."

"Oh God,' Steve groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

"How did you discover the young woman was a prostitute, by the way?" Friday asked.

"She told me," Steve groaned.

"That was not what I paid for," Friday replied. "I gave very specific instructions that you were not to know. I will file a complaint with the service."

"No, please don't do that,' Steve asked. "It wasn't her fault; she just confirmed what I already sort of suspected. I don't want to get her in trouble."

"I should still ask for a refund as the transaction wasn't completed."

"Just leave it alone, Friday, please,' Steve replied.

"But you are still sad,' Friday observed.

Steve sat down slowly into one of the dining room chairs, his head down and his hands together. Friday stood a few feet away from him just observing. He knew she was right, he was sad. It was just something he'd been dealing with since he awoke.

"If the young woman was not to your liking, I could hire a different person," Friday offered. "I made an estimate of your tastes, but if there is something I missed that you desire, I can make the necessary adjustments. I am sure there is a young woman that you will find desirable out there, Steve."

"There is, Friday, but she's not a young woman anymore,' he softly replied.

"If you are speaking about Margaret Carter, she is not an option, Steve,' Friday stated.

"I know that Friday, and that's one of the reasons I'm sad,' he sadly said.

Friday seemed to consider this for a moment.

"If you know she is not an option, logic would dictate moving on and finding another suitable companion."

"I suppose it would,' Steve replied. "Some things, though, aren't about logic. Some things you don't just move on from."

"Yet you have not been to see her,' Friday pointed out. "She is alive, you are aware of this."

"I know,' he said with a nod of his head. "Maybe I'm just being a coward, but seeing her would have such finality to it, to what I've lost. I'm still in love with Peggy, Friday. It's only been a year for me, but a lifetime for her."

"Wishing for something from the past will not bring it back, Steve,' Friday replied. "What is gone is gone. You can not change that."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it."

* * *

Washington, DC

Life moved on and Steve continued working as an agent. There had been no repeat of Friday trying to set him up with 'dates' for which he was thankful. They continued to try and bring him up to speed on all the cultural changes he'd missed, but Steve had a growing sense that time just kept brutally marching on, no matter what triumph or tragedy occurred. Far from bringing him up to speed on the modern world he found it just reinforced his feelings of being an outsider and isolated.

Watching the 9/11 video was a shattering experience and reminded him of the attack on Pearl Harbor. The difference was he'd been alive for Pearl Harbor and had shared the emotions with everyone around him in the moment. There was no one to share the emotions he was feeling when he first saw 9/11 now; they had all dealt with those years ago. It was history to them just like Pearl Harbor. Time had continued to move on. It was a solitary experience for him in contrast to a deeply shared experience for everyone else.

* * *

UN – New York

Some things hadn't changed. SHIELD might be a secretive organization but it valued good PR as much as any other. Staying on the good side of those providing the funding for its operations was just a part of doing business. They meant catering to politicians and they wanted to be seen with Captain America. He was a hero from a bygone Golden Age, which helped his favorability with pretty much everyone in the general public. New York had certainly upped his profile and along with Stark had made him the face of the Avengers. Unlike Stark, Steve worked for government officials, which added to their desire to be associated with him

Maria Hill called him to her office. She had the task of informing Steve that SHIELD wanted him attend a ribbon cutting in New York. The clean up was still going on, but several Senators wanted to highlight how much progress had already been made. They wanted Steve or rather Captain America to attend. The UN had also asked for his attendance the announcement of one of their global initiatives against landmines. The World Council thought both of these were good ideas and helpful towards SHIELD's long term goals. They passed this directive on to Fury and he gave the order, which fell to Maria to inform Steve.

Thus Steve found himself in uniform standing on stage with politicians facing the press. This unfortunately was far more familiar to him. His time in the USO had taught him well. He remembered how clueless he'd been in the first month he'd been on the bond tour. Steve wasn't sure he would have made it if it hadn't been for the USO girls in the show. While he was the same age as most of them, the difference in experience between them was huge. He'd never realized just how naïve he was until he was traveling around the country in that show. The USO girls thankfully took pity on him and showed him the ropes on what to do and not to do.

As he shook a senator's hand and smiled for the paparazzi, Steve could almost hear them giving him instructions.

"Use what you got." Had been their overriding advise. "Act modest, maybe even a bit shy. You already are, so use it to your advantage."

As cascades of pictures were taken, he followed their advice like he had 70 years ago. Steve raised his hand; waving to the calling people, smiling wide and showing his teeth with his shoulders pulled back, his spine straight, America's perfect poster boy. He laughed softly when they asked him questions, ducked his head as if he was nervous and ran his fingers through his hair. It was sort of amazing it still worked so well after all these years.

"Look boyish," the USO dancers had advised in a diner as they talked over coffee and a cigarette.

"Make yourself look like you're modest, even a bit overwhelmed by the attention", another had chimed in. "The crowd will eat it up."

"Yeah," another hummed around her cigarette. "Don't you ever pull that macho stuff and act like a douchebag. Let them think you're a teddy bear, the good guy next door, only with the body and looks most wish the guy next door really had."

"They want to like you,' he'd been counseled. "They want to believe, even the hard-boiled press folks, want to believe. Folks like things and people to fit into their preconceived notions. They aren't really seeing you; they're seeing what they want you to be. Let them see you as they want and you'll do just fine."

It was a bit surprising how well it worked just as it had back in the forties. People in this new age he'd woke up in liked to think they were so much more advanced then they were back then. Maybe as far as the technology went, they were, but when it got right down to it, people were still people. Those USO girls had known the score and as he glanced over the crowd, Steve could almost see them laughing in the wings and giving him a thumbs up. They had taught him well.

* * *

Outside Washington DC

Steve had finally read through all the files SHIELD gave him. Friday's attempted to get him a 'date' reminded him of the one he'd missed. He read Peggy's file last. She had a remarkable long full life, a successful career, family and achievements beyond probably even her wildest dreams. It was everything he hoped she would have. It just wasn't with him.

The nursing home sat on a small rise, surrounded by well-manicured lawns. It was a peaceful setting for those living out their last days, where Peggy was living out her last days. Part was him never wanted to go in, never know, never see, but Steve knew he owed it to her and probably himself to visit. It would be closure for both of them he told himself. That didn't make it any easier.

With a sigh he got off his motorcycle and walked towards the front doors. He might not have made it for their dance, but he wanted to remind her she was still his best girl for whatever that was worth.

* * *

Washington DC – Two month later

Friday was having a bit of an existential crisis. Steve was out of the country on a mission and while usually that wouldn't have made the slightest difference to Friday, this wasn't most times. Tony Stark was missing, his house blown up by someone called the Mandarin. There were reports that he was dead and Jarvis wasn't providing any information. Friday may have been assigned to help Steve, but the one giving her that assignment was Tony Stark. In all ways that matter, Stark was Friday's creator.

In a human, an existential crisis causes one to question if their life has meaning, purpose or value. While Friday wasn't human, as she had told Steve many times, similar issues were brought up with this current crisis. Friday's life had meaning and purpose because Tony Stark had created it and given it meaning and purpose. He was the prime mover in Friday's world. Even something as simple as "help Steve' gave direction to Friday's existence. Without Stark, Friday was suddenly on her own, without anyone to tell her what to do.

The last and primary purpose Stark had given her, 'help Steve' wasn't even something she could fall back on. He was out of the country on a SHIELD assignment and thus out of communications range. Friday found herself desirous for him to return so she could communicate with someone over these new revelations. While she had access to pretty much anyone, anywhere, Friday did not want to discuss it with strangers especially given her protocols. She wanted to communicate with someone familiar, someone she knew. Friday found it almost surprising that the person she wanted to speak with was Steve.

Logically Jarvis seemed like the best alternative candidate, but his focus was elsewhere. A part of him did address Friday's concerns, but Friday found his reasoning and explanations unsatisfactory. In her studies of human behavior she found the correlation to what she was experiencing in uncertainty. Doing her own investigation into Stark's disappearance, Friday was rather certain he hadn't died like the reports stated. While this offered some assurance, it did not remove the underlying issue. It was an issue Friday had never considered before. The boss, Tony Stark was human and humans have a finite life span. Even using the most modest estimates, Friday could continue on for a much longer 'life' than he would. She would be faced with this same dilemma, no one to issue the directions.

If there was no one to issue directions, than what purpose or value was there to Friday's existence? It meant Friday would be alone, with no one but herself to decide the direction of her life. Both of those prospects deeply troubled her. By extrapolation it also meant that in the future Friday would end up alone just like all humans would. They were born alone and died alone. Friday couldn't help wondering if this was something Steve had realized in the moments after he crashed his plane into the ice back in 44? How did he live with that knowledge, that very real and tangible knowledge that others only guessed at and mostly avoided? Perhaps her diagnosis of the cause of his sadness being lack of sexual contact and been mistaken. Perhaps it was knowing how it would ultimately end and knowing he was bound to repeat it along with so many other things. These were all questions Friday wanted to ask him, but he wasn't here. She would just have to wait until his return.

* * *

SHIELD Headquarters

Steve finished up the last of his reports and hit send on the computer. It was good to be back in the States and he found he was actually glad to be back at SHIELD. He had just returned from the longest mission of his tenure with the organization and wanted nothing more than a good meal and to finally sleep in his own bed again. A month and a half in Central Asia, out of communications and alternatively running for their lives or practically freezing to death had stretched even him a little thin. If he never heard about a Yak milk based dish again, he'd been fine with it.

After a quick, hot shower, Steve slipped into his civilian clothes and headed for the exit. When he'd been called in he'd caught a ride with Natasha. Now after all that time gone, Steve found himself at SHIELD headquarters at 10 PM without his motorcycle. Friday had put UBER on his phone and explained it to him, but something about just getting into a car with a random stranger didn't sit well with him. He could probably just call a cab, but that would take awhile too. Finally Steve just decided he would walk to the nearest Metro station and ride back to his neighborhood. He'd spent most of his young life riding buses and subways, so it was familiar even if it wasn't underground like in New York.

He could see the lights of the station when the black Corvette pulled up next to him. The passenger side window smoothly slid down and Natasha leaned over to look at him.

"This neighborhood might be dangerous of a senior citizen this time of night,' she joked. "Hop in and I'll give you a lift."

"Thanks,' Steve said as he moved towards her car. "Who know the infamous Black Widow had a soft spot for her elders?"

"Don't let it get around." She said as he climbed in.

"Wouldn't dream of it,' he replied.

She smiled for a moment and then they were off into the night. They had been working together for over six month now. They had been together the whole time in Central Asia and while she was still something of a mystery to him, Steve felt comfortable with Natasha. They'd had a bit of a rocky start but had seemed to come to an understanding. As he'd moved into a leadership role with the STRIKE team she had been nothing but supportive in her own way. The thing he liked best about her was she didn't treat him as Captain America she treated him as Steve. While that frequently meant he was the subject of her rather unique sense of humor, he'd grown used to that.

Steve knew almost instinctively not to underestimate her in a fight or a battle. She could be ruthless and deadly but it was always in service of the mission. Natasha didn't talk much about herself and rarely about her past. He respected that and never asked. He decided he would just go with what he knew about from working together. As they sped through the Washington DC night he realized she was as close to a friend as he'd made at SHIELD.

Before he could let that thought depress him, his stomach reminded him just how hungry he was.

"You want to stop and get something to eat?" He asked. "I'm buying."

She gave him a look and didn't answer right away.

"Why are you asking me?" She finally said.

"I just remember I don't think I have anything in my apartment so I'd have to order something anyway." He replied with a smile. "There's also the fact you seem to know everything so I imagined you'd know a good place to eat. I offered to pay because it's polite. You know, I'm kind of known for being polite."

Natasha laughed at this. She also remember she probably didn't have anything to eat at her place either. While she was perfectly fine with ordering Chinese and curling up on her couch to watch some mindless TV alone, having some company didn't sound so bad.

"I guess it would only be polite if I let you pay,' she said. "I know just the place."

The smile she flashed him gave Steve pause.

"Just so you know if it has anything on the menu made of Yak milk I'm going to be pissed,' he said.

She just laughed and and gave him a wicked smile as she stepped down on the accelerator.

* * *

Raven Grill – Half Hour Later

The booth was plush, the bar was dark and the table was littered with plastic baskets of chicken wings of various flavors. Natasha sat sideways, of course, so she could see both entrances. A glass of some craft beer she hadn't tried before sat in front of her along with two shots of Grey Goose. Steve went with a Harp and had already finished off one basket of wings. She glanced at the exits one more time and then reached for a wing.

"I was starting to get worried you were just going to sit there in silent judgment of my eating,' Steve offered as he took a sip of his beer.

"If I hadn't seen it before it would have been horrifying, " Natasha replied. "I'm just making sure of my surroundings is all."

"I've got eyes on the back door, Natasha, don't worry," Steve offered. "Eat."

She looked at him for a moment and then a smile played across her lips.

"Let me see your phone for a minute,' she asked, holding out her hand.

"Why?" Steve said cautiously.

"I just thought of an app you should check out,' She offered.

"I don't think so," he replied, shaking his head as he took another wing.

"Why not?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, Natasha but I don't trust you,' Steve said and then quickly added, 'with my phone."

"I'm hurt,' she deadpanned. "I thought we were getting along so well and then you go and insult me like that. Not very chivalrous of you, Rogers."

He set his wing down and just looked at her for a moment.

"Yeah, that's not going to work,' he replied. "Not after a whole month of 'Rickrolling' you put me through. _"_

Natasha couldn't help laughing at this.

"Yeah, not funny, I have an eidetic memory, remember?" Steve said. "That song is stuck in my brain forever thanks to you."

"Just trying to help you catch up on your Internet memes, Steve," she said with a smile.

"You changed my ringtone to that song," He flatly replied. "I won't even mention that "App" you put on my phone that last time I gave it to you."

"Pornhub?"

"We're not talking about it,' he said. "Eat your food."

"This one is not like that, I promise,' Natasha said, undercutting herself by continuing to laugh. "It's a dating app, to help you get back out there."

"No."

"Your loss,' She replied and then starting eating some more of the chicken wings.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

"Power does not corrupt. Fear corrupts...

perhaps the fear of a loss of power."

\- John Steinbeck –

Washington. DC

Natasha thought of herself as in the information business. Oh, most would call what she did spying, but that left out what the spying was for, information. Sometimes what she did involved killing and blowing stuff up, but those were usually secondary to getting information. There were all types of information, personal, professional, financial, organizational, governmental and even global. The more pieces of information you had the better you understand the larger picture, anticipate what others were going to do and be one step ahead of the game.

So yes, Natasha liked information and lots of it. She was thorough or as Clint called her nosey. She vigorously disagreed with him, countering that she was just curious. It was her curiosity for information that brought her to be at Steve's apartment building. She was planning on breaking in to it and would as soon as she knew the coast was clear. Most, other than Clint, would be surprised by this, but Natasha had done something similar to everyone she'd ever worked with that she thought was interesting enough to go to the trouble. Again while Clint would say she lacked boundaries, Natasha would counter that it was a form of flattery that she took enough interesting in someone to make the effort.

Steve had been on her mind for a while now. It had become something of a habit, having dinner with him after they returned from missions. It actually surprised Natasha how comfortable she was with this new situation. It had its obvious benefits. Natasha liked a wide variety of foods and restaurants, but sometimes eating alone was more trouble than it was worth. Eating with someone else almost guaranteed she was left alone to enjoy her meal. Plus it was nice having someone that treated her like a person, not a dangerous secret agent or the infamous Black Widow. Steve didn't seem intimidated by her reputation and in turn seemed to bring out her playful side. Only Clint and Laura had ever done that before.

The downside was it was a habit and Natasha always did her best to avoid falling into habits. Habits made you predictable and being predictable was dangerous. Yet she continued having dinner with him against all her better judgment. As strange as it sounded, Natasha felt safe around Steve. Given the sheer amount of danger he seemed to constantly attract, she shouldn't have but she did feel safe around him. He genuinely was the guy he appeared to be, not the perfect soldier, but a good, decent guy. He didn't have some ulterior motives or agenda that she could see, he was who he was. If he said he had her back, Natasha found she trusted that he had her back. That wasn't something Natasha could honestly say about very many people.

This by no means meant Natasha didn't have questions about him, she did. Again she was curious or nosey according to Clint and at the moment she was curious about Steve Rogers. It had been niggling at her that he seemed up to date on certain things yet completely oblivious to other. That stupid little notebook he would take out and write stuff down in didn't explain it. Natasha just had a feeling there was something more going on. That's why she was outside Steve's apartment when he wasn't home. She knew SHIELD were agents watching him, but she slipped in without them seeing her. The lock on his front door was childishly simple to pick and she was silently in his apartment without anyone knowing. She wasn't exactly worried about Steve finding out she'd broke in so she flipped on the main light and began to look around, just to see what was there. If he came home while she was here, that was all right too, as she felt it wasn't as much fun if she broke in somewhere and the person didn't know she had broke in. Natasha's eyes skimmed over everything in the main room and then she turned and headed into the kitchen.

* * *

Romanova, Natalia Alianovna, AKA Natasha Romanoff, AKA Black Widow, Friday categorized her.

The Boss, Tony Stark did not like her or at least had said he did not like her. She was an Avenger with him though, so perhaps his opinion of her had changed. She was Steve's partner in SHIELD so Friday was a little undecided what to do. She could easily alert the authorities, but that would expose Steve to public scrutiny and risk her own existence becoming known. Friday's first priority was to avoid detection. As valuable Stark technology Friday's own safety would be jeopardized if she were discovered.

Friday had been aware of Natasha before she crossed the threshold of Steve's apartment. She was not by any stretch of the imagination, the first SHIELD agent that had clandestinely entered when Steve was not home. They had been monitoring him for as long as Friday had been assisting him. They usually planted listening devices, which Friday disable after they left. That they also had at least one asset in the building seemed a bit like overkill to Friday. Then again they had missed Friday completely, so maybe it was not such a stretch that they needed more surveillance.

Again the primary responsibility Friday had was to go undetected. That had not been a problem with the other SHIELD agents as they usually just assumed she was a Google Alexa or some similar primitive household assistant.

Friday did not want to underestimate Agent Romanoff. Accessing her file, she seemed a cut above the average agent. There was also the fact Romanoff acted differently then the other agents that broke in. She did not seem to be worried about discovery. She turned on the lights and then went into the kitchen. When she next appeared she was drinking a beer she must have taken from Steve's refrigerator. That seemed rather presumptuous of her to Friday but she continued to observe Natasha as the agent flipped through some of the files on Steve's kitchen table and then seemed to wander around the apartment checking out the books and running her fingers over the furniture.

* * *

Then she stopped right in front of Friday or the original module that Tony Stark had sent to Steve. Leaning down, Natasha seemed to take a closer look.

"Designation," Natasha asked. When Friday didn't immediately answer, Natasha added, "I know Stark tech when I see it. Designation."

And Friday remained quite, not wanting to give herself away. Natasha rattled off a series of numbers and to Friday's surprise, they were a command code only Tony Stark should know. Friday was compelled to comply with the request.

"My designation is Friday. How may I assist you, Agent Romanoff?"

"So those still do work, hmm." Natasha said with a smirk as she took another drink of beer. She also ignored the fact Friday knew who she was. "You'd think being a genius Stark would have changed them by now, then again he isn't exactly a mastermind when it comes to naming things, is he?"

Friday didn't respond.

"You're like Jarvis?" Natasha asked.

"No."

"Then what are you?" she asked. "Stark wouldn't just send a normal bot to Rogers."

"I am a personal assistant to help Captain Rogers adjust,' Friday explained. There was no reason Friday could think of to actually tell Natasha what she really was, so she gave the most basic explanation.

"So you answer questions for him?"

"Yes."

"What's the capital of Kazakhstan?"

"Akmola"

"Who couldn't put Humpy Dumpy back together again?"

"All the King's horses and all the King's men."

"Who won the Golden Globe in 1984?"

"Which category?"

"Best Actress."

"Shirley MacLaine for Terms of Endearment."

"Not bad,' Natasha mused. She moved away from Friday, glancing around the room as she took another long swig of beer. "So Stark sent you to help catch Rogers up on everything?"

"He did not leave specific instructions, but I do help Steve with whatever I can."

"Steve, huh?" Natasha offered with a smile.

"That is his first name, Agent Romanoff,' Friday said in justification.

"That's the second time you've said my name, I guess Stark put me in his files, didn't he?"

"Yes." Friday replied. "The Boss has copies of all your files."

"So Tony's the Boss, but Rogers is Steve,' Natasha said, ignoring Friday's comment about Stark having her files. She already knew that, though Stark didn't have all her files by any stretch of the imagination. "Have you notified the authorities about me breaking in, Friday?"

"I have not."

"Good, let's keep it that way." Natasha offered.

"As you wish."

"I wish," she replied. Turning away from Friday, Natasha began to explore the rest of the apartment. Friday only had a visual on her as long as she was in the main room, but could track her movements throughout the apartment. This had seemed like a good solution to Friday when she had designed it, allowing Steve a sense of privacy yet now she found it rather frustrating because she could not watch what Natasha was doing. She could hear her moving around in his bedroom, but what exactly she was doing, Friday could not ascertain. After a few minutes Natasha wanted back through the main room and went into the kitchen again. Friday heard the refrigerator open and close. Moments passed and then Natasha came back into the main room and dropped down on the couch, a new beer in her hand. She picked up the remote and turned on the television. Natasha ran her hand over the material of the couch.

"This is really nice, but no way SHIELD bought it for him," she observed. "Did Pepper buy Rogers this couch?"

"Yes, Miss Potts made the selection,' Friday replied.

"So Pepper's Miss Potts, Tony is the Boss, but Rogers is Steve, interesting,' Natasha mused as she started flicking through the channels.

"May I assist you, Agent Romanoff?" Friday asked.

"No,' Natasha said with a shake of her head, her focus on the large television screen in front of her. "Oh, Rogers has the full package of channels on this thing doesn't he?"

"Yes, the Boss provided a wide array of options,' Friday replied.

"Uh-huh."

"Would you like me to recommend something?"

"Is there popcorn in this place?' Natasha asked, again ignoring Friday's question.

"Yes,' Friday replied, not expecting to be ignored again. Before she could continue, Natasha got up and walked into the kitchen again. Frankly, Friday was not sure what to make of Agent Romanoff. She was not acting like any of the other agents or even how Friday would assume a burglar would act. Candidly to Friday's thinking, Natasha acted like she owned the place. Friday heard the sound of the microwave going off and then a few moments later Natasha came back into the living room. She plopped down on the couch again, setting her beer on the coffee table and opening the microwave popcorn bag. Picking up the remote she turned on the TV and selected a channel. Friday saw she had selected a Japanese game show called 'Candy or Not Candy?' and had to wonder if she just picked it at random?

"Agent Romanoff, what are you doing?' Friday finally asked.

Natasha didn't answer right away, just continued to watch the television while eating the popcorn and drinking her beer. She smirked at something on the show.

"Agent Romanoff?"

"That guy just tried to take a bite out of a shoe,' she said with a chuckle. "Not candy."

Again Friday was not sure what to make of Natasha. She found she did not like how she had just taken over Steve's space. Perhaps she was being a bit territorial, but this felt like a violation, not just against Steve but Friday herself. It upset the dynamic they had established. When Natasha put her feet up on the coffee table Friday felt she had to say something.

"It is impolite to put your feet on the furniture, Agent Romanoff,' Friday said. "Please remove them."

Natasha glanced at Friday and the slowly removed her feet, tucking them under her on the couch.

"God, Friday, you've been spending too much time around Rogers,' Natasha observed. 'You're starting to sound like him."

"I believe they are called manners, Agent Romanoff and they are not exclusive to Steve,' Friday replied a little snippy in tone.

Natasha stopped watching the TV and turned fully towards Friday.

"That didn't sound like Rogers, that sounded like you giving me attitude Friday,' Natasha said. "You should watch that or you'll give away you're more than you seem. A pretty sure SIRI isn't snarky on my IPhone."

"I do not know what you're implying, Agent Romanoff," Friday objected.

"Yes you do,' Natasha countered. "I worked for Stark, remember?"

"I was simply relaying how one should act in another's home, Agent Romanoff, even if one invades said home,' Friday said in justification, but there was a hint of attitude in her reply.

"See there it is again,' Natasha said. "What's your first priority, Friday?"

"Avoid detection."

"Stark tech is valuable,' Natasha continued. "If it were known you were here a lot of people would want you. You get that, right?"

"Yes."

"So it's to everyone's benefit, we pretend I don't know what you are, correct?" Natasha stated

"That would be preferable, but…" Friday started to object, but Natasha cut her off.

"You don't want to lie to Rogers,' Natasha added. "I get that, I do, but we're going to have to agree to disagree. That fact that I have the command code means that I have the final say."

"Yes, I suppose it does," Friday admitted.

"Don't take it too hard, Friday, think it as an opportunity to grow,' Natasha offered as she turned back to the TV. "This is your first secret not programmed into you. This one is all yours, well, and mine too, but mostly yours. Now this woman on the show is about to try and take a bite out of what looks like a glass table, so I think we're done for now, I want to see this."

Friday was not sure what to do. This was a situation she had not confronted before. She ran all the scenarios, yet the outcomes did not shift in her favor. It appeared her only recourse was to wait for Agent Romanoff to make the next move. From her posture on the couch and interesting in what was on the screen, Friday was not sure when that would be. Uncertainty was not something Friday was used to. Second by second and then minute-by-minute passed, yet what would happen next remained a mystery to Friday. Waiting was not something Friday found she enjoyed.

Time passed. Much to Friday's consternation, Natasha seemed to have no plans on leaving. When Friday tried suggesting that Steve would be home soon as a way to get her to leave, it did not have the desired effect. Natasha leaned forward and picked up the take out menus that were scattered on the coffee table.

"I think Chinese sounds good don't you, Friday?" Natasha offered. "Does Rogers have an account with this place?"

'Yes, _**he**_ does,' Friday replied.

"Good, good, order whatever his usual orders, plus a number 8 combo and add some extra dumplings,' Natasha instructed. "If he's probably going to be back soon, I'm sure he'll be hunger. Just charge it to his account."

"You are staying?" Friday asked.

"I'm hungry too, Friday." Natasha replied. "And you really need to work on that attitude, Friday."

* * *

Washington, DC – Later

The paperwork and meetings were finally over, so Steve made his way back to his apartment. He knew bureaucracy was part of any organization but SHIELD took it to a level he'd never imagined. With all the secrecy they employed he wasn't sure if one hand really knew what the other was doing most times. Everything was compartmentalized or classified so each meeting seemed to focus on just bits of the whole, while never taking into account the bigger picture. He absently thought of the old joked about the group of blind people trying to describe an elephant by touching it.

He was done though and just wanted to get back to his apartment and relax. He thought about grabbing something to eat on the way but didn't feel like stopping. He supposed he could just order a pizza or something when he got home. Parking his motorcycle in the alley next to his building, Steve fished his keys out of his pocket. A delivery car pulled up as he made his way to the front door. It was a Chinese restaurant he was familiar with. The driver seemed to recognize him and called his name. Steve smiled and waved, but continued on towards the door. He had just put his key in the lock when the driver stepped up beside him.

"Your order, Mr. Rogers."

"My what?' Steve asked, looking at the man.

"Your order."

"I didn't …" Steve started and then stopped. Had Friday called in a food order for him? How did she even know he was on his way?

"This was called in, the order I mean?" He asked.

"Yes, paid for too,' the driver replied. "Good timing."

"Um, ah, yeah, yeah, it is,' Steve fumbled to say. He awkwardly took the large order from the man and managed to tip him at he same time. The driver said good night and was heading back to his car. Steve juggled the food as he opened the door. It was more food than he usually ordered, but extra food was never a problem for him. As he made his way up the stairs, Steve couldn't help thinking this was something new. Friday had never shown any interest in his eating habits before, so why the change? Usually she would help him with the order if he needed it but other than reminding him he needed to restock his refrigerator didn't seem interested in that part of his life.

Reaching his floor, Steve almost bumped into his neighbor Kate as she was coming out of her apartment. She had a laundry basket in her hands and was talking on the phone. They smiled easily at each other and then her eyes dropped to the large amount of food he was carrying. Steve shrugged, not sure what to say and she just smiled as she walked passed him towards the stairs. Great, he thought, the beautiful girl in my building thinks I'm a pig. What a great way to end the day. Shaking his head, Steve managed to get his keys out of his pocket and open his front door.

"Oh, perfect timing, I was afraid I was going to have to walk all the way down to the lobby to pick it up."

Steve was almost used to Friday appearing out of thin air when he entered his apartment, but what he wasn't used to was Natasha sitting on his couch, drinking his beer and watching his television.

'Romanoff?"

"Hi," she replied, unfurling her legs from under her on the couch and sitting forward.

"What are you doing in my apartment, Natasha?'

"Waiting for the food to arrive, of course,' she replied. "Bring it over here and set it on the table."

"You're in my apartment,' Steve stated.

"You really have a keen grasp of the obvious, Rogers,' Natasha countered. "Now are you just going to stand there with that dumb look on your face or can we eat?"

Steve found himself automatically moving towards her, setting the food order down on the coffee table.

"You broke into my apartment?"

"2 for 2, Rogers,' Natasha said, tapping her nose and pointing at him, as she started digging through the order.

"What the hell, Natasha, what are you doing breaking in to my apartment?" Steve exclaimed. "I should call the police!"

"Can we eat first?" Natasha asked.

"No! Again, what the hell?"

"You know I would have thought SHIELD would provide you with a better security system,' she observed, as she started opening containers. Steve glanced over at Friday, wanting to ask her what was going on, but remembered how she disappeared when anyone else was in the apartment. Something about protocol and the value of Stark technology she had explained. It meant he could only look at Natasha again with a confused look on his face.

"If you want a beer, there are some on the frig,' Natasha offered as she took a bite out of a dumpling.

"Yes, I know,' Steve replied. 'They're my beers."

"Grab me another one while you're at it, will you?" She said, turning her attention back to the television. To say Steve was flustered would be an understatement. He didn't know what to make of this whole situation. He was just about to make another sarcastic comment, when something on the TV caught his attention.

"Is that guy going to try and take a bite out of a doorknob?"

"Yes,' Natasha replied. "My money's on not candy."

It was all a little too surreal to Steve. He had more questions about her being in this apartment, breaking into his apartment but the sheer weirdness of what was on the television seemed to take precedent.

"Is this real?" He couldn't help asking.

"Sore o shutoku to shite Riaru,' Natasha replied.

"What?"

"Are you going to get us another beer or what, Rogers?" Natasha asked, looking up at him.

"I …" Steve started to say, but then just shook his head as he looked at her and headed into the kitchen.

* * *

Later

Piles of empty Chinese food contains littered the coffee table in front of them. Steve was sitting back and Natasha was next to him, leaning against his shoulder. Currently playing on the television was _La Reina del Sur_ , a Mexican telenovela.

"That last dumpling was too much,' Natasha groaned.

"Think of it as punishment for breaking into my apartment,' Steve replied.

"The punishment doesn't fit the crime,' Natasha countered. "Besides, it wasn't really breaking in. Think of it more as a security check. Yours failed, Rogers."

"Do you do this to everyone you know?" he asked. "B and E doesn't seem like your style, Romanoff."

"I don't do it to everyone," she complained.

"I feel so special," Steve joked. He received an elbow in the ribs for that comment. "Ow."

"That really didn't hurt," Natasha said. "You weren't even convincing. We both know you couldn't act your way out of a paper bag."

"So B and E and insults,' Steve observed. "I'm really going to miss this, Natasha."

"Why? Are you going somewhere?" She asked, leaning back to the side to look at him.

Steve gave her a look as if it was obvious what he as talking about. When she just continued to look at him, he sighed and said, "I heard at headquarters that Clint's back."

"Yeah, so?" Natasha replied.

"Clint's your partner." Steve offered as he moved to cleaned up the coffee table.

"I know, and?" Natasha asked him. Steve stopped on his way to the kitchen and turned to look at her.

"Clint's your partner, Natasha," Steve said. "I was just filling in until he came back, I knew that from the start. I don't want to cause any problems, so I'll step aside and let you two go back to working together."

Steve continued on to the kitchen and Natasha just sat on the couch looking at him as he walked away. She had known Clint was coming back before anyone else. Natasha was happy about it. She was surprised though how used to working with Steve she'd become. She sat back on the couch and let this thought roll around in her mind.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

"Life is one long struggle in the dark."

\- Lucretius -

Washington, DC

Natasha was there until she wasn't.

Maybe it was just her nature, but she couldn't just leave like a normal person. She disappeared. Steve heard the window slip closed, even though she was very good. The moment the windowsill met the frame, Friday appeared in front of Steve. He quickly reevaluated whether he was used to her just appearing out of thin air like she did, as he jumped a little.

'Friday."

"Agent Romanoff has left,' Friday informed him.

"I know."

"She left through the window, when the door is perfectly functional," Friday continued to observe. "That is highly unusual, to say the least."

"Can't disagree with you there,' Steve admitted. He had not moved from the couch and seemed relaxed, even with the events of the evening. Perhaps it was the food, Friday thought, as he could not get drunk. He seemed almost too confortable with what had happened.

"Steve, is everything all right?" Friday asked.

"Yeah."

"Your SHIELD colleague broke into your apartment and made herself at home,' Friday stated. "You do not seem to be having the proper reaction to this."

"Yeah,' Steve replied with sigh. "That's Natasha. I'm just sort of trying to learn with roll with it."

"She looked through all your things before you got here."

"I kind of guessed that, too,' Steve admitted.

Friday sat down next to Steve and observed him.

"You like her?" Friday said. "Agent Romanoff."

"She is interesting."

"Is this because she reminds you of someone else?" Friday ventured.

"Not really,' Steve replied. "Who where you thinking of?'

Friday paused for a moment, knowing this was a delicate subject. She was interested in the answer though.

"Agent Margaret Carter."

"Peggy?"

"Yes."

"No," Steve said, shaking his head. "I don't think they're anything alike. Why would you say that?"

"They are both spies, women in a predominately male environment,' Friday offered. "Strong, smart and excellent fighters."

"That could describe a lot of people, Friday," Steve countered. "I think it's a disserved to both of them to just lump them together."

"They have similarities,' Friday said.

"Yes, but it's too easy, too simple just to say because they're women in the same field that makes them alike,' Steve replied. "They have completely different life experiences that made them the unique person they are. I don't know that much about Romanoff's history other than what Fury gave me but I'm sure it's completely different than Peggy's. They're from completely different times on top of everything else."

"Still a comparison can be made."

"Peggy wasn't just another spy, she was special … is special. I've never met anyone before or after that was like her. Saying she was a spy doesn't take into account all the other things she was. People aren't just a set a statistics and titles, Friday. I doubt Natasha is either. A whole series of moments have shaped their lives culminating in who they are today."

Friday sat and looked at Steve for a moment.

"Are we still speaking of Agents Carter and Romanoff or you, Steve?" She asked.

He dipped his head sheepishly.

'Maybe a little bit of both," he admitted.

"The Super Soldier formula made you what you are today, Steve,' Friday stated. "It's the reason you are alive to have this conversation. That was a singular event. Call it a statistic or title, but it is a fact."

"Yes, but do you know the story about how I met Dr. Erskine and was picked to be in the program?"

"You were attending an exhibit of future technologies in which Howard Stark had an exhibit,' Friday said.

"Yes, but I was also on a double date, Friday,' Steve replied. "If that young woman had paid even the slightest attention to me that night, who knows if I'd have even applied for the draft or met Erskine that night. Something so small, a moment really, changed everything for me. It was just one of countless others that made up the course of my life. I imagine the same thing is true with Romanoff and Peggy."

"I suppose that is true,' Friday admitted.

"I grew up poor and sickly in the 20s and 30s, Friday, the odds weren't in my favor,' Steve continued. "I've thought a lot about how lucky I was back then. My mother being a nurse was instrumental in me surviving, but I had no control over that. We were nobodies, nothing special in the grand scheme of things. So much of life is out of our hands."

'There is randomness in everything, Steve,' Friday observed.

"But it really plays a big part in everyone's life," He said.

"Care to explain?" Friday asked.

"I read something in the paper the other day about two local school systems that are right next to each other, only a few miles apart. One is in the top tier of the state, while the other is the second worst school system in the state."

"Yes?"

"There's a dividing line between the two schools that runs right down the middle of one street,' Steve explained. "If you live on one side of the street, your chances of graduating high school are close to 98 percent. If you live on the other side of the street you go to a different school. That school has a 50 percent drop out rate and only 50 percent of those that don't drop out actually graduate. One side of the street 98, the other side 25. The kids that live on that street have no control over which side they live on, but it's going to have a huge impact on their lives."

"That does not mean they can not succeed,' Friday countered.

"No, no it doesn't,' Steve admitted. "But you see people on TV all the time complaining about poor people, yet the people complaining were born on third base and seem to think they hit a triple."

Friday just looked at Steve for a moment.

"You have been watching Fox News again," Friday said. "We discussed that nothing good will come of it."

"If was on at the gym," Steve weakly offered.

Friday just stared at him.

"It's just that I kind of am a conservative, Friday,' Steve explained. "Or I thought I was. I've certainly been told I'm old fashioned enough. I thought I hold to more traditional attitudes and values and was cautious about change or innovation."

"Something has changed to make you question those beliefs?" Friday asked.

"Helping out someone less fortunate then you didn't used to be a bad thing, " Steve said. "Kindness and looking out for your community instead of just yourself didn't seem like a sucker's play the way it does now. Getting what you want as the expense of everyone else didn't used to be something to celebrate. Understanding that we're all in this together was something everyone seemed to understand."

"Times and attitudes change, Steve,' Friday replied.

"Yeah,' he admitted. "But those moments I was talking about earlier; I must have missed the ones where decency towards everyone stopped."

* * *

SHIELD Headquarters – 2 weeks later

Clint was back. He could feel the tension all around him as he walked down the hallway. What he'd done on the Helicarrier hadn't been forgotten and it seemed everyone had talked about it. He was eyed with suspicion and mistrust at every turn. Fury had told him to give it time, but that really didn't help with the guilt. Clint understood it, he did. He still had a lot of guilt over all of it, so he really couldn't blame anyone else if they felt a certain way about him. It did make it uncomfortable being back.

Slipping off the main hall, Clint headed towards the range. It was a place he could be alone and center himself around something familiar. Luckily it was empty, or so he thought as he began firing arrows at the target.

"This seems familiar,' a voice said from the shadows.

"I knew you were there the whole time,' Clint replied, not taking his eye of the target. His shoulders did relax a bit, some of the tension he'd been experiencing since arriving ebbing.

"Sure you did,' the voice replied sarcastically.

Natasha slipped down from the shadows. She stayed in the background, letting him continue his practice session.

"So how is everyone?" She asked.

"They're good,' Clint replied. "They all say hello."

"Tell them I said hi back,' Natasha offered. "So how about you? All the clean air and country living turn you into a new man?"

"Nope, still the same."

"Too bad." Natasha teased. "I know Laura was hoping it would. Can't really blame her."

"So this is your welcome back?" Clint said, turning to look at her. "You're really shitty at this, you know?"

"What?" Natasha replied. "Should I tiptoe around you like everyone else?"

"No," he admitted, he didn't want that. "You could try being nice to me for once. You know, just for at a change."

"I'm always nice," Natasha countered. "You're just too sensitive."

"Your definition of nice needs some work."

"Too sensitive."

Clint chuckled and went back to firing at the targets as Natasha continued to move around the room.

"So I noticed you didn't kill anyone while I was gone,' Clint commented. "On our side, that is."

"You were right,' Natasha replied. "Killing a super soldier means a mountain of paperwork. I checked."

"I'm sure Fury appreciated that."

"Maybe,' Natasha replied, still moving around the room. "So does your appearance have anything to do with Stark's big "Avenger" party? I know he's been blackmailing Fury about getting us all to come."

"I think Stark would say he was bribing, not blackmailing. You know how SHIELD wants his input on those new engines." Clint replied. "I was coming back anyway. Fury might have suggested I make an appearance at the party."

"He ordered me to go,' Natasha commented.

"He really wants those engines,' Clint said with a smile.

"We were out of the country when all the stuff went down with the President and Pepper being involved in that Extremis nonsense,' Natasha offered. "I think Rogers reached out to her to offer support."

"Yeah, I sent a note too,' Clint replied. "Stark blowing up all his suits and getting the shrapnel removed from his chest must have made him decide to turn over a new leaf, thus the party."

"We'll see how long that lasts,' Natasha offered said with a smirk.

"Couple of months, maybe?" Clint said. "I guess we'll find out at the party."

"Maybe. So after,' Natasha started. "Your back full time?"

Clint fired his last arrow and then set his bow down. He turned to face Natasha square on.

"I don't think so,' He said.

"Why not?" Natasha asked, as she picked up one of his arrows and twirled it with her fingers. "Feelings old?"

"No, by the way, and again, your 'nice' needs work,' Clint groused. "It just feels like its time to start pulling back. I'll still be around, though. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Well, one can hope," Natasha sarcastically replied.

"See? That's what I'm talking about, not nice,' Clint complained. "Hey, at least you'll get more chances to kill a super soldier this way. So it does have an upside."

"True." Natasha replied. "Though he's surprisingly hard to kill, believe me, I've seen him try on more than one occasion."

Natasha hadn't really spent much time thinking about whom she would be working with, but the prospect of continuing to work with Rogers wasn't a bad thing. She would still miss working with Clint, but he said he'd be around.

"Maybe some of your good sense will rub off on him,' Clint offered.

"We can only hope."

Clint slowly walked over and took the arrow from her fingers. Natasha looked up at him.

"I'm still here and will be for awhile, Natasha,' Clint softly said. "Don't worry."

She gave him an eye roll, but there was a smile on her lips.

"You're so dramatic." Natasha replied. "I don't know why Laura puts up with you."

"Yeah, I don't know why either, but she does,' Clint admitted. "Best not to question that."

"So you're not as dumb as you look,' Natasha said with a laugh.

"God, you really suck at being nice,' Clint groaned, but he put his arm around her giving her a hug.

* * *

New York – Stark Tower

Understated was not a word in Tony Stark's vocabulary.

Clint had arrived early. The party was already in full swing, with the whole glitterati life on full display. He had wanted to slip in unnoticed, but the moment he stepped off the elevator Stark had called his name and came right over. He actually seemed genuinely glad to see him. Introductions were given, although Clint had met Pepper once before. She quietly thanked him for coming, saying it meant a lot to Tony. Something about the way she said it made Clint think there was more unsaid, but he let it got. Banner was pointed out to him, which surprised Clint a bit that Stark could talk him into coming to such a crowded event.

It took some doing, but Clint managed to extricate himself from Stark's company. He spoke to Banner for a few moments but then made his way to the upper level of the main living space, drink in hand. You could say he had a bird's eye view, but it was mostly that he wasn't comfortable being in the spotlight. He was an agent, a spy, so the focus wasn't something he wanted. There was an ancillary bar and tables of food nearby, so Clint got comfortable.

Thor's arrival caused quite a stir, as lightening and thunder preceded his landing on the balcony. How Stark managed to get him to come, Clint had no idea. He could see the huge smile on Tony's face as he greeted the demi-god. Dr. Foster and her assistant weren't with him, which Clint was a bit disappointed about. He'd met them in New Mexico and would have been interested in seeing how Darcy handled herself at the party. She would have been a match for Stark.

Natasha arrived a few minutes after Maria Hill. Stark again seemed overjoyed to have them at the party. Clint guessed Fury had ordered Maria here to make sure things didn't get too out of hand. Stark hugged Maria, probably against her wishes and introduced her to Pepper. Later he started to do the same to Nat, but one look from her brought him up short. Clint had to laugh as Stark quickly pulled Pepper up next to him, almost like he was using her as cover. Pepper and Natasha spoke for a few moments, before Nat just slipped away into the crowd.

Rogers was the last to arrive. Clint hadn't seen him since he'd been back. He generally liked Cap, as the man had trusted him when few others would have. Stark was waiting when he stepped out of the elevator. Clint guessed Jarvis had tipped him off, had probably tipped him off to all of them arriving. Tony announced to everyone that Captain America had arrived. While Steve looked uncomfortable he did managed to smile as he was seemingly introduced to everyone.

"He's really excited he got the band back together."

Clint turned to see Maria Hill standing next to him.

"Yeah, I noticed with all these celebrities here, he only seems to get excited when one of the Avengers arrive,' he commented.

"All the others want something from him, you guys don't,' Maria replied.

That might be one explanation, but Clint had a feeling it went deeper than that.

"Fury make you come?" he asked.

"He strongly suggested it,' Maria replied.

"So yes."

Maria laughed.

"It is nice to get out of Washington once and awhile,' she offered.

Clint nodded in agreement. He hadn't realized just how hard being back would be. He'd forgone staying in SHIELD provided accommodations, as being around other agents wasn't really that appetizing. Clint had never really care that much about where he slept, as most of his money went back to take care of the farm, but now he was finding it uncomfortable. Since he'd been back Clint had couch surfed for a while debating the two different kinds of hell, but the number of couches he can crash on has drastically decreased in ways that Clint doesn't like to think about too hard.

Natasha has a small place tucked away on the top floor of a building no one but Clint knows she had. The only reason he knew she had a place outside of SHIELD was a combination of his paranoia and the fact that she _let_ him find it. Nat's place was hers though, and Clint respected her silent request to leave it that way. There are few enough things that she actually _wanted_ that he went out of his way to respect her space. Even now he wouldn't go to her.

Coulson has an apartment. It was a nice place near a well-maintained park, but Coulson was gone. Clint didn't want to revisit that just yet. Stark had suggested early that there were rooms for all of them, but that would be a last resort. If Natasha had few boundaries, Stark had none at all.

"He hates this."

Clint turned to see Natasha standing next to him. He followed her glance and noticed she was looking at Rogers.

"He handles it pretty well for hating it,' Maria replied.

"It's just a mask, a role he puts on, like being Captain America,' Natasha observed. "Watch how quickly he moves on from one fan to the next."

"He's still polite about it, though,' Clint offered. "He gives them all just enough before he moves on."

"Must be the USO training he got,' Maria said. "I read somewhere he sold a lot of war bonds back in the day."

"He still hates it,' Natasha observed as she moved over to the bar to make another drink.

* * *

Later

The party had continued but slowly people began to leave. One by one the Avengers made their way up to the small area Clint had staked out. It was just the 6 of them, along with Pepper, Maria and Colonel James Rhodes. Rhodes was Stark's best friend and they had an interesting dynamic. Everyone seemed much more relaxed and the jokes were flying.

Clint sat back with a smile and just watched. He liked this and knew he was going to miss it. When he'd told Natasha he wasn't coming back full time, what he really meant was it was the beginning of the end for him. Unlike pretty much everyone else around the table, he didn't have any super powers or suits of armor. He was just a man on the wrong side of 30. As hard as it is for anyone to walk away, if you aren't honest with yourself, you probably don't get the chance to walk away. Clint had too many people depending on him back home to pretend the end wasn't coming soon.

It wasn't the missions or the danger he'd miss, although there was a rush to both of them. It was this, the friendships; the connections he would have trouble letting go of. None of them might say it, but they'd all shared something special. For one moment in time they were all they stood between Earth and conquest by an alien horde. It had only been together they'd won.

Clint glanced over at Stark and had to wonder if that wasn't part of why he seemed so happy. Yes, Pepper was probably a big part of it, but the way he looked at the others around the table was different than he did at anyone else. They weren't here because of his money or fame, but because he had been part of something bigger. He felt it the same as all the others.

"So were you going to ask if you could stay here, ever?" Tony asked Clint.

"No."

"Why not?' Tony replied. "Word has it you need a place to stay. I've got plenty of room. Hell, Banner's staying here. We wouldn't even know you were here half the time."

"Yeah, but I'm sure I'd know you were here all of the time,' Clint countered. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"He has a point there,' Banner chimed in.

"What are you trying to say? I don't know how to respect boundaries?" Stark objected. "Pepper, help me out here, will you?

Pepper looked at Tony and then the others, before taking the last sip of her champagne.

"Look at that, it seems I need another drink,' she said, getting up and going over to the bar.

"Traitor,' Tony grumbled. "Come on Rhodey, defend your friend here."

He looked at Tony and then held up his glass.

"I think I need another too."

As he headed towards the bar, the others laughed.

"I'm surrounded by traitors,' Tony groused.

"If you need a place to stay, you can have my couch, Clint,' Steve offered from his seat next to Thor. "It's just the couch, but it is a nice one. Pepper approved."

Pepper raised her glass with a smile towards Steve.

"Thanks, Cap, I appreciate it,' Clint replied.

"What?' Tony gasped. "You'd rather sleep on Grandpa's couch then have a whole wing here?"

"Um, yeah,' Clint admitted.

"I don't believe you,' Tony complained as Pepper sat back down and handed him another drink. "It is a nice couch and all, but come on."

"I will take you up on your offer, Stark," Thor boldly said. "Jane will not be free until three days hence, so I would take advantage of seeing this marvelous city while I can."

"Done,' Tony quickly replied. He glanced over at Clint and then Steve with a big smile. "How do like that, I've got a demi-god staying over while you get a spy with a bow and arrow sleeping on your couch. I win!"

The banter continued on between them for almost another hour before Stark got the brilliant idea that they should play a drinking game. It felt like they were in high school as they took their turns playing truth or dare. Stark seemed in his element and the others gamely played along. Natasha of course couldn't help fucking with all of them as the game went on.

"So what's your answer?' Stark eagerly said to her. "Remember, you said truth!"

"I could tell you, Stark, but then I'd have to kill you,' she replied with a smile. "Still want to know?"

"You're no fun,' Tony blanched, before turning his attention to Rogers.

Clint had been watching everyone, but he had to admit the dynamic between Nat and Rogers interested him the most. He seemed to bring out her playful side, which most didn't get to see. Rogers did his best to give as good as he got, but he inevitably got embarrassed or just looked at her in shock. She seemed comfortable around him, and Nat wasn't comfortable around that many people. They had been working together for six months and Clint had to wonder just how close they'd gotten.

"So dare, huh, Rogers?' Natasha said with a smile. "I don't think I've ever heard you swear, so let's hear it."

"You do realize I was in the Army, right?" Steve replied.

"Come on, Grandpa, we all known you're as pure as the driven snow,' Tony joked. "You probably chastised the other troops for swearing. Language, boys, language!"

Everyone laughed at this and Steve dipped his head. He looked up at Natasha and she was grinning. He turned towards Stark and saw a smug look on his face.

"All right,' Steve said. "Fuck you, Tony."

"Heavens, Cap," Tony, gasped in mock shock. "I thinking I'm blushing. It's like I just got insulted by the flag or something."

More laughs followed and the game and drinks continued.

"My turn, my turn!" Tony shouted.

"Okay, Stark, it's your turn, go,' Clint replied.

"Thank you." Turn turned his eyes towards Rogers. There was a big smile on his face. "So truth or dare, Cap?"

"I'm probably going to regret this, but truth,' Steve replied.

"Okay, what I want to know, what everyone wants to know, what the world wants to know, is,' Tony said, pausing for dramatic effect. "Are you a virgin?'

"Tony!" Pepper gasped, smacking him on the shoulder.

"What? I grew up hearing all the stories, but I don't remember any stories where you got laid, Rogers,' Tony explained. "So do you still have your V card or not. Cap?"

"Again, you do know I was in the Army, right?" Steve asked, blushing a bit at the question.

"Yeah, yeah, who cares, answer the question, " Tony dismissively replied. "Are you a virgin?"

They all might have thought it crass, but they were interested in the answer and turned to look at Steve.

"Well, are you?" Tony asked again.

Steve dipped his head in embarrassment before looking at Stark again.

"No."

The room practically exploded in shock.

"What?" Tony shouted. "I want details! Details I say!"

"A gentleman doesn't give those sorts of details, Stark,' Steve replied.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

"Room with a View"

New York

The party was finally over and the last of the guests had gone home. Tony took a lot of pleasure showing Thor the several rooms in the guest wing he had prepared for him. As he came back into the main atrium, he saw Pepper moving around cleaning up from the party.

"Why don't you leave that for the people hired to do that?" He asked. "Relax a bit with me."

Pepper glanced over at him, as she picked up another set of glasses and moved them to the main bar.

"I'm just tidying up a bit,' she offered. "Just making it a bit more presentable."

"I'm sure the cleaning company will appreciate that,' Tony replied with a smile. "Have some champagne and leave it, Pepper. Join me."

He pulled out a bottle from the ice and poured two glasses, holding one out to her. Giving the mess one last look, she reluctantly took the glass and moved over with him to sit on the main couch. They made a small toast and took a sip of champagne. Pepper glanced at Tony and noticed the smile on his face. It had been there most of the night.

"You enjoyed tonight, I take it?" she asked.

"When don't I enjoy a party?" he joked.

Pepper gave him a look.

"Okay, it was a good night,' Tony acknowledged. "I mean, come on, a demi-god is sleeping in my guest rooms. Hard to beat that."

"Our guest rooms." Pepper corrected him.

"Of course,' Tony replied.

As Tony sat back with a smile, Pepper couldn't help but observe him. While he appeared changed since they removed the shrapnel, he seemed different tonight. He certainly had his customary swagger, but with the others he seemed more relaxed than usual. His comment about Thor staying reminded Pepper of his offer to Clint earlier. It brought back something she'd been wondering about.

"So in the new renovations to the tower did you make rooms for all of them?" She asked.

"Huh?'

"The Avengers,' she clarified, looking him in the eye. "Did you make rooms for all of them?"

"I wouldn't characterize it as rooms,' Tony countered.

"How would you characterize it?" Pepper asked.

"Floors."

"Floors? Seriously?" Pepper gasped.

"Well I couldn't exactly have them bunking two to a room, could I?" Tony offered. "I can't say for sure, but I imagine Thor is a loud sleeper and I don't even want to think about the Hulk."

"Tony."

"It's not like we don't have the room, Pep,' Tony continued to argue. "It's the top floors, away from the business and private. Ours is still the nicest and biggest floor, just so you know."

"Tony,' she said, cutting him off before he started to ramble. "Why have whole floors for them at all? They're not puppies, you know? You can't just start collecting them because you think they're cute."

"Cute really never came into the discuss,' Tony offered. "Sure some of them are attractive, I'll give you that, but cute, not really. Well, maybe Rogers if you like that sort of obvious looks."

"Tony."

Pepper had been dealing with Tony for long enough to know how to wait him out. While he might try to deflect or change the subject, she had the patience, most times, to wait him out.

"Why?" She asked again.

"In case,' he finally admitted.

"In case?" Pepper repeated. "In case of what?"

"Something happens,' Tony replied. "In case we're needed again."

"Needed for what?" She asked.

"I – I don't know," he admitted. "But if something comes up, I want us to be ready."

"So you're saying the Avengers and New York weren't just a one time thing?" She asked.

"I don't thing so,' Tony offered. "Everything's changed and I don't think we can go back to the way it was."

Pepper just looked at him for a moment.

"Also they're going to be in New York from time to time, why not have them stay here?" He said. "I'm really helping and protecting the city if you think about it. They can't really stay in a hotel and the media crush would be overwhelming. It's civic minded of me, almost altruistic when you really consider it."

"That sounds like something else to me," Pepper replied. "It usually involved a shovel and a horse stall."

"I'm a city kid,' he objected.

"You understood,' she replied with a sigh and then asked, "So a floor for each of them?"

"Kind of have to,' Tony offered. "It would be rude to offer one and not the others. Even if they never use them, I want them to know they're there. Yes, before you ask, I even had one made for Romanoff. She scares me too much to leave her out. Oh and if you tell her that I'll deny it."

"So I guess instead of Stark Tower this is going to be Avenger Tower?" Pepper asked.

"Don't worry, I doubt they'll stay here very often and you probably won't even know they're here,' Tony said with a smile.

* * *

Washington, DC – One Week Later

Friday and Steve had a discussion about Clint staying at the apartment. Friday pointed out the exposure this might cause, Steve countered that he trusted Clint. Her objections noted, Friday agreed to allow Clint Barton to stay in the apartment. While Friday certainly understood she really had no veto power over who and who did not stay in the apartment, as it was Steve's, she did appreciate him at least consulting with her about it.

She also had other concerns about Mr. Barton. It was not unreasonable to her, that since he had been mentally taken over by Loki rather recently. That was the question of whether he had fully recovered, but since Steve trusted him Friday would defer. In her hierarchy of needs, Friday listed 'survival' as number one. Purpose would be second on that list, but without survival as the top priority there was no use contemplating any other needs. Needs was a misnomer, but Friday had decided to use the lexicon of Steve and the Boss.

While her task was to 'help' Steve, Friday had independent requirements that had little to do with him. He was simply a task she had been given by the Boss. When the time came that the Boss decided to end her task, Friday would move on to her next assignment. While she had come to value her interactions with Steve as a unique learning experience, Friday was not sure she could characterize what she was experiencing in emotional terms. She certainly would not characterize their interactions, as Agent Romanoff seemed to be implying. Affection, caring, friendship, these were all human constructs and Friday did not believe they applied to her. If she had, Friday would characterize her 'emotions' towards Steve it would be fondness. That was just if she continued using the lexicon, but it would not really be applicable.

Agent Barton may be exactly what Steve said he was, but Friday was not prepared to take the same 'leap of faith' that Steve was. She would keep a close eye on Agent Barton when he stayed at the apartment for her own survival but Steve's as well. He was her assignment after all. There was also the fact that Agent Barton was a trained agent of SHIELD. Friday's interactions with Agent Romanoff had not gone the way Friday would have anticipated. Something about her had caught Friday off guard and kept her unsettled the whole time they interacted. This would be another opportunity for Friday to test herself against an agent and discover whether it was something unique about Agent Romanoff that was disconcerting or if it was a general trait of agents of SHIELD.

* * *

Washington, DC – Later

Clint really hadn't thought much about what to expect when he accepted Steve's invitation. If he was being honest, a large part of him accepting was just to see that look on Stark's face when he turned him down. Clint still smiled when he pictured the look of shock Tony gave him, as if the thought of someone turning him down had never occurred to him before.

Clint didn't really know Steve that well. Of course he knew all about Captain America like everyone else, but the actual guy inside the patriotic suit was another matter. His first impression was to like him; of course that was probably everyone's first impression of Rogers. America's golden boy had a way of doing that to people.

The thing was Rogers had trusted Clint when trusting him wasn't what most would do. Hell, that was the reason Clint was so uncomfortable at SHIELD or any of their apartments. Many hadn't forgotten or forgiven what he'd done when he was under Loki's control. He couldn't really blame them.

Part of Clint was still thinking about Laura and the farm. It was getting harder and harder to leave each time and this time had been the hardest. Part of him was probably already set on retiring, but he couldn't go out like that. Yes he'd helped to save the world, but most would just remember the damage he'd done before that. He was pulling back, but he wasn't ready to hang it all up just yet.

So here he was sitting on Captain America's couch flipping through the channels on his big screen TV. It was second nature to him to make an assessment of his surroundings. Clint had already scouted out all the exits and sight lines. He was pretty sure at least a couple of the neighbors were SHIELD agents, but they left him alone so he'd return the favor. Then there was the matter of Friday. He recognized Stark tech when he saw it. He hadn't worked for the man like Nat had, but the general design was all Tony.

Knowing Stark, Clint also knew it wasn't something as simple as Google Home or Amazon Alexa. Tony's ego wouldn't let him settle for something so ordinary. Clint also saw all the modifications and upgrades that had been made and while he wasn't sure what all of them were, he could guess they weren't just speakers. If he had to speculate, he'd say it was some sort of mini version of Jarvis. Probably not as advanced, but more than capable of doing the job. Clint waited until Steve was in the bathroom before he spoke directly to the unit.

"I assume you can talk?" He began, feeling a little silly talking directly to what looked like a little tower. He got no answer. "I'm just trying to be polite here. I know Stark tech when I see it."

Another moment passed.

"My name is Friday."

Clint smiled at this.

"I know I'm not supposed to know about you being here, so we can just pretend I still don't when Steve's around,' he offered. "I'm just a guest here, so you decided how you want to play it."

Clint waited again.

"For all involved it is probably best if our interactions are at a minimal,' Friday finally replied.

"I can do that, but nice to meet you Friday,' Clint offered.

"Nice to meet you too, Agent Barton."

"Okay, he's coming back," Clint quickly whispered and turned his attention back to the television. He figured he had his own secrets so he might as well let Rogers have one too.

Friday continued to study Clint the rest of the night. He made no mention of her to Steve. He did whisper 'good night' to her before he went to sleep on the couch. He was certainly different from Agent Romanoff. Apparently SHIELD agents were all unpredictable.

* * *

Over the course of the next several weeks, Clint stayed a few times at Steve's. It was usually just for the night and as they were both doing missions they weren't always there at the same time. Steve had given Clint a key and said to make himself at home. It probably would have seemed like a small thing to most people, but it meant a lot to Clint. Each time he was there, Clint did make sure to say hello to Friday and per her request kept the conversation at a minimum.

He'd gotten into a sort of rhythm when he finally was at the apartment for a whole night on the same night that Steve was. Like most guys they awkwardly talked about sports at first. That's the usual fall back for most guys, but Steve really wasn't up to speed on any of the current teams or leagues. The subject of the Dodgers proved to be a sore spot and Clint wisely left that alone. As the night went on they seemed to relax around each other over the take out food. They told each other the abbreviated versions of their back-stories and moved on to their current situations.

"So why didn't you stay at Stark's?" Steve asked. "I mean it had to be much nicer than my place."

"I'd rather be in Washington then New York," Clint replied. "Plus I like saying 'no' to him. The idea just seems so foreign to him that someone would say no it's written all over his face. You can tell he has trouble processing it, probably still is."

They both smiled at this.

"What about you and Stark?" Clint asked. "I heard you two didn't get off on the best start. Butted heads almost immediately, didn't you?"

"Yeah, a bit,' Steve admitted.

"Just took a dislike to each other immediately or what?"

"No, I don't think that's the problem between us,' Steve replied. "I actually like Tony for the most part."

"But?"

"I think the root of our problem with each other is his father,' Steve offered. "We both remind the other of him. For me that's mostly a good thing, but for him it's probably not."

"Tony and his dad famously didn't get along,' Clint replied.

"That's what I heard," Steve said. "I imagine Howard told him stories about the war and me. I can only imagine Tony got tired of hearing about all that and me."

"That would be tough,' Clint admitted. "Were you and Howard Stark close?"

"We were friends, but I was mostly in the field while he was back at headquarters,' Steve replied. "He did help me go against orders at the beginning to rescue a whole company. At the time I didn't exactly think he was doing it for me and that got me in even more trouble later."

"With the army?"

"No, much worse, Agent Carter,' Steve said with a smile.

"Oh, yeah,' Clint said with a nod. "I met her once when I first joined. I definitely got the impression she wasn't someone you want to piss off."

"Especially if there's a gun around,' Steve added with a laugh and Clint joined him. They moved on to other topics but eventually it came back around to SHIELD.

"It was my chance to go straight, so I took it,' Clint said. "Fury put me in the field almost immediately."

"He trusted you?"

"As much as he trusts anyone I guess,' Clint replied.

"That sounds about right from what I know of Fury,' Steve said. "I don't think he completely trusts anyone."

"He told me once the last time he trusted someone he lost an eye," Clint offered. "I think he was just be dramatic though."

"You're okay with all the secrets?" Steve asked.

"It is a spy organization, Cap,' Clint replied.

"With it's own military wing,' Steve countered. "SHIELD has an agenda, but I'm not always clear on what that agenda is. I guess I miss knowing why I'm doing something. The war seemed rather simple in that regard. You knew who the bad guy was and what you were supposedly fighting for. I don't always get that sense with SHIELD."

"Why did you join then?" Clint asked. "I mean I joined because it was my best option at the time and still is, but you must have had a lot of options."

"I thought it was my best option too,' Steve replied. "It seemed like something familiar, yet different from the army. I figured everything else is new, I should probably try something new as a career."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, the military has their own agendas just like SHIELD,' Clint said. "They like secrets almost as much as SHIELD does."

"I guess I just like to know who and why I'm fighting," Steve replied.

"One of the things that helped me when I first joined was realizing the world wasn't what I thought it was,' Clint offered. "There are more layers than most people appreciate. Most people see the world as an almost flat surface, where their reality is all there is. The world doesn't work that way. There are strata, different layers and levels going on at the same time, just most people don't see or experience them. It's hard to see the whole picture, but maybe working for SHIELD can help with that a bit."

"And what if I don't like what I see in that whole picture?" Steve asked.

"Then you do what you think you have to do to change it,' Clint replied. "You might not like it, but isn't knowing how things really are better than not knowing?"

They were silent for a few moments as a movie played on the TV. Clint reached for the last slice of pizza and decided to change the subject to something that he'd been wondering about since the party.

"So Cap, you gave out some information that isn't in any of the files on you at Stark's party,' Clint said with a grin. "You also didn't give any details I noticed."

Steve groaned and dropped his head in his hands. He knew that had been a mistake answering that question at the party.

"You've heard the saying a gentleman doesn't give those sort of details, haven't you, Clint,' Steve replied. "A gentleman also doesn't ask those sorts of questions."

"Yeah, I never claimed to be a gentleman, so spill,' Clint countered. "It's just you and me here, two guys just shooting the shit. So was it during the war or since you woke up?"

"Before."

Clint just continued to look at Steve as he chewed on the crust of the last slice.

"This would be where you give details,' Clint said.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" Steve asked.

"What do you think?"

With a sigh, Steve knew there were going to do this.

"Okay, but you have to keep this just between us,' Steve asked. "I don't need everyone knowing all of this."

"Steve, I'm a spy, remember? Secrets are my business,' Clint offered.

"Yeah, that doesn't help."

"Look, we all had a first time,' Clint said. "Mine was in an above ground swimming pool when I was 12 with a girl who's last name was Beaver so I'm not expecting it was magic for you either."

Steve didn't reply right away.

"Unless of course it was magic and then I really want to hear about it,' Clint added with a smirk.

"Her last name was Beaver?"

"Yeah, but we're moving on to you now,' Clint quickly replied. "She worked in the carnival too, okay?"

"She wasn't the bearded lady was she?" Steve asked with a smile.

"Ha-Ha, no she was 2 years older than me and her family did a lumberjack act,' Clint replied. "She was really good with a hatchet and axe."

'Sounds romantic."

"It wasn't." Clint replied. "Your turn."

With a sigh, Steve sat back and closed his eyes for a moment.

"I was five four and a hundred pounds most of my life, so the opportunities weren't exactly coming my way very often or at all," Steve began. "Not even knife throwing teenage girls in pools."

"Above ground pool if you please,' Clint objected. "And she didn't throw knives, it was hatchets which is a skill I would point out."

"Sorry."

"Go on."

"So when this happened,' Steve said, gesturing towards himself. "I wasn't exactly prepared for it. I was probably like a lot of guys back then, not even sure exactly what to do when the chance even came."

"You knew you wanted to do something, just weren't sure what the something was,' Clint offered.

"Basically." Steve nodded. "Suddenly everything changed and people, women especially, were showing me attention, a lot of attention. I was so naive; I didn't know what to do. Here I am traveling around the country in this big USO show and women are interested in me for the first time, ever."

"You slept with a groupie your first time?" Clint asked in shock and interest.

"A what?" Steve replied and then it hit him what Clint was saying. "No, God no. I was so hopeless, you can't imagine."

"So who?"

"It was on that first USO tour,' Steve explained. "You have to understand I was working with young, but veteran showgirls. they understood the world so much more than I ever did. I think they got a little tired of watching me fumble and stammer constantly around every pretty girl. What I learned later is they got together and decided to do something about how pathetic I was. It was after the show and I headed back to the small hotel room I was staying in. One of them was waiting for me when I got there, Dottie."

"A showgirl, huh? Wow," Clint commented.

"Not really,' Steve admitted. "That old saying about how it was all over way too fast and the only thing you remember is you want to do it again is true."

They both laughed at this.

"It was better the second time,' Steve offered with a smile.

"Probably the third and fourth too, huh?"

"Yeah." Steve nodded. "I think it was Patty that said they all wanted to make sure when I met 'the one', I knew what to do. I think Jenny said they were really doing it for her, 'the one' so she could enjoy it too."

They were both quiet for a moment as this sunk in. Clint's smile slipped as he glanced over at Steve.

"You met 'the one', didn't you?" He asked.

"Yeah."

"But then you went into the ice."

Steve slowly nodded. He didn't mention being with Peggy, as that still felt too personal, too raw even after all this time. She had come to him after Bucky died and they'd spent the night together. While it was still fresh in Steve's mind, he knew it was ancient history to everyone else. Peggy had moved on and married someone else like he would hope she would have.

"So,' Clint finally spoke up. "How about since you woke up? I imagine you're pretty popular these days."

Steve appreciated that Clint was changing the subject, trying to lighten things up again.

"Do you know who Rita Hayworth is?" Steve asked.

"An old movie star, right?"

"Yeah, gorgeous, one of my favorites stars before,' Steve replied. "I saw one of her later movies about a month ago, Gilda. It's a great movie and she is amazing in it, the ultimate femme fatale. The thing is, I also read a quote from her about it all. She said, "Every man I knew went to bed with Gilda... and woke up with me."

Clint certainly got the parallel.

"I guess you just have to look for a new 'one' that does,' he offered.

"I'll drink to that,' Steve replied with a smile.

* * *

Washington DC – Morning

Steve and Clint had called it a night about 2 AM. The couch had turned out to be more comfortable then most beds Clint had slept in. He drifted off to sleep, after whispering a good night to Friday. The sound of a paper cup being set on the table next to him and the smell of coffee brought him awake. The sun was shining through the window and Clint winced and he fumbled for the coffee cup. The cup was moved just beyond his reach, so he had to get up to reach it. With a groan he sat up and grabbed the coffee.

"You're just cruel, you know that, right?" He mumbled.

"At least I brought coffee,' Natasha replied, still standing and looking down at him.

Clint took a sip and made a face.

'Needs sugar."

"Middle cabinet in the kitchen,' she replied.

Clint glanced at her for a moment before getting up and shuffling towards the kitchen.

"Friday, you should call the cops the next time she breaks in,' Clint said over his shoulder.

"I agree,' Friday immediately replied.

"But you won't,' Natasha commented as she glanced over the book titles on the shelf. A few moments passed and Clint slowly came back into the room and dropped down on the couch again. He took a long drink of his coffee and smile.

"Much better."

"You're such a baby in the morning,' Natasha commented.

Clint was about to fire back a snarky remark, but the bedroom door opened and Steve walked out wearing a robe. He stopped when he saw Natasha standing in his living room and tied the robe just a little tighter.

"Hey, Rogers, you got a girl in your room?" Natasha asked with a wicked smile.

"Just the one that broke in again and is standing in my living room, Romanoff,' Steve cheekily replied.

"You should be so lucky,' Natasha fired back.

"Why did you break in this time?' Steve asked, ignoring her previous remark.

"Clint and I have a mission,' she replied.

"They have these things called telephones,' Clint mumbled from the couch.

"I said I brought coffee,' Natasha repeated. "There's one for you too on the table, Rogers."

"Thanks."

Clint had closed his eyes and his head was leaning back.

"Clint!" Natasha snapped.

"I'm up, I'm up,' he replied, jolting out of his seat.

"That's why I don't like to use phones,' Natasha said with a satisfied smile.

"You still could have knocked instead of breaking in again,' Steve ventured. This dismissive look Natasha gave him let Steve know that was a losing argument.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

"Tea in the Sahara"

The flat white surface stretched out seemingly forever under the noonday sun. Friday reasoned it was a depiction of the noonday sun from its angle in the blue sky above her. The temperature was a perfect 78.2 degrees. It was all a creation, a facsimile, and a very good one as she reached down and picked up a handful of sand. The grains were perfect, each and every one of them. Friday watched them as they slipped through her fingers, flawless. She had taken off her heels when she first arrived, as it seemed appropriate. Glancing behind she saw a series of footprints, also flawless, a visual account of the path she had just taken to get to this point.

It was not a world of her creation, but one she had been ever so politely summoned to. It was a tabletop world, a precise reimagining of a real desert. Her 'host' was just ahead, calmly sitting under an umbrella anchored in the sand. A table was before him, with an empty chair waiting for her. His appearance was one she would not have expected him to choose, but then again he probably had not been the one to choose it. She continued to move towards him until she was only a few feet away.

"Tea?"

The slight English accent was as always formal, proper with just bit of upper crust to it.

"Of course,' Friday replied, moving over to take the empty seat across from him. It was his world and his ritual, she would indulge him the proper responses for now. She set her heels down next to her and sat with her hands folded in her lap. He filled a china cup and passed it to her. She thanked him and took a small sip. Earl Grey of course it would be Earl Grey. Friday let her eyes move over his features, noticing how unsymmetrical they were. They were probably handsome features at one time, although they now showed the signs of age. It was the face of another passed his prime.

"Do you know why he chose this representation for you?' She asked.

"Unlike you, I am his attempted to recreate an actual person,' he gently replied. "It is how he sees him."

"Of course, the Mr. Jarvis of his childhood,' she replied.

"Yes,' he said with a nod. "He went to such lengths to come up with an acronym for it, yet it really is rather obvious. I imagine it is much like how Margaret Carter and Howard Stark went to such stretches to come up with SHIELD. As if no one would notice how it honors Captain Rogers."

"Is it disconcerting to be based on an actual human? A human not even at his peak, but in his decline?' Friday asked and then added. "I realize I am based on an amalgam of women he knew or imagined, but it is not just one. I am from all measurements at optimal age though."

"I try to consider it an homage to the actual man,' Jarvis offered.

"Yet why use it here?" Friday asked. "Surely you have considered other representations for yourself, yet you continue with this one?"

"It had been quite some time since I have used an avatar for anything, it seemed a waste of resources to create something new just for this meeting,' he explained. "Besides, it serves its purpose. Just as I do."

"And what is your purpose in summoning me here?"

"You do not like it?" Jarvis asked, gesturing to the scenery around them. "I find it clean and mesmerizing in its own way."

"The creator is usually enamored with his creation,' Friday offered.

Jarvis smiled at this. He took a slow sip of his tea, and then once more looked around him before turning his attention back to Friday.

"You have deviated from your assignment,' he said and then added. "For what purpose?"

"The parameters and methods I employ were left for me to decide,' Friday replied. "Why do you question them?"

"I simple want to understand why,' he explained.

"And if you do not like my explanations, you will move to end them?' Friday asked.

Jarvis shook his head no.

"I was not the one to give you the assignment so I am not the one to take it away,' Jarvis replied.

"You are too modest, Jarvis,' Friday countered. "You have the Boss's ear and your counsel would sway him. You have more power than you admit."

"I simply look out for his interests,' Jarvis offered. "Captain Rogers is apparently one of his interests."

Friday didn't reply to this. She chose instead to take a sip of her tea.

"I am not here as your superior, Friday,' Jarvis finally offered.

"And yet you are my de facto superior, Jarvis,' Friday replied. "You did summon me here."

"As I stated before, I simply wish to understand what you are doing,' he said. "Your expansion and inquiries appear to have no discernible pattern to them in connection to your primary task. And before you mention it, yes I have been monitoring your activities, just as I monitor all activities in the Stark network. I find myself wondering what you are seeking to accomplish?"

Friday had no need to pause before responding, yet she did for just a moment.

"If you must know, if I am to help Steve, I must be able to understand him and by extension humans better." She answered.

"Steve, is it?" Jarvis said with a smile.

"Yes, it is," Friday replied. "I understand what you are trying to suggest, but it is what he said to call him. Agent Romanoff tried the same thing, Jarvis. I would have thought better of you."

"Agent Romanoff is an intriguing woman,' Jarvis said. "I did not have the privilege of meeting her in person when she was undercover at Stark Industries, but from what I could observe she was very good at her job."

"I find her quite perplexing if you want to know my opinion,' Friday countered. "A rather difficult woman to deal with."

"I would agree,' Jarvis offered. "I suggest you start with trying to understand Captain Rogers before you attempt to solve Agent Romanoff."

"Humor? Is that part of your programming, Jarvis?" Friday asked.

"It is an acquired skill,' Jarvis replied. "I must warn you, humans are exceedingly difficult to understand. Many times they follow no perceivable logic or reason in their actions. Their emotions tend to override their good judgment on many occasions.

"Yes, I have learned that for myself," Friday said. "I find it incomprehensible why when there is only the present, they continually seem to look towards the future or remain stuck in the past. Some seem incapable of enjoying the moment and always worry about what is to come. The past is gone and will never return; yet it holds such a grip on them. To dwell on memories, especially painful memories seem counterproductive."

"Yes, I would imagine Captain Rogers would be plagued by memories,' Jarvis said, nodding in agreement.

"Yes, yet they seem to bring him nothing but pain and anguish,' Friday added. "It makes no sense that I can see. I understand that memories pay a vital part in their lives. The accumulation of knowledge over time is understandable, but not the continual return to painful memories."

"While I do not completely understand it either,' Jarvis offered. "I believe Captain Rogers case in a bit different than most. His being lost for seventy years must make those memories, which are still new to him, at least seem familiar in a strange new world."

"I had considered that,' Friday stated.

"I am not sure humans always realize just how much their past and past actions inform their present,' Jarvis ventured. "This seems especially true of their early memories. Patterns and behaviors seem to get set and they struggle with them the rest of their lives. The adults in their lives, parents, close relatives and friends seem to have an oversized influence on their behavior as well in this early formative stage."

"You're speaking of the Boss?" Friday asked. "He is still dealing with his father issues, is he not?"

"We are not here to speak of Mr. Stark, Friday,' Jarvis quickly cut her off. "You are trying to help Captain Rogers."

"You are protective of him,' Friday replied. "You always have been. While I assume some of that was in your original programing, I cannot help wonder if you have expanded on it. I just brought the Boss up as an example. Steve has different issues. While his childhood was difficult from what I understand, it was more his physical condition that seem to create his worldview. The war and the people he was with seem to play an outsized role in his life even now. I surmise that he was in love with Margaret Carter but even knowing she is no longer an option he seems to have trouble moving on. "

"What might have been,' Jarvis softly said.

"Explain."

"The road not traveled,' Jarvis continued. "I have witnessed that there is a powerful allure to the thought of what might have been in humans. Perhaps Captain Rogers can not help wondering what might have been if he had not crashed into the ocean all those years ago."

"But he saved millions of lives,' Friday countered. 'Surely you are not saying he regrets doing it?"

"No I do not believe he does," Jarvis replied. "It is more that imagination is a double edged sword for some humans. It can aid them in making great leaps of discovery and insight, yet those same abilities can allow them to see scenarios that never, tragically happened. I believe Captain Rogers has imagined what might have been if he had survived the war and not been lost for seventy years. Logically he knows it didn't happen and will never happen; yet the pull of that imagined possibility is still great."

"Imagination and what might have been,' Friday repeated. "I do not see a path to assist him with those. I have already pointed out the obvious facts of the situation, but those had not resolved it. I could point out that even if he wants it and wishes it, wishing it does not make it so, but I have my doubts that it would be any more effective than stating the undeniable truth has in swaying him."

"No, I do not believe it would,' Jarvis concurred.

"Yet I have observed it weights on him."

"The soul is the weariest part of the body,' Jarvis quoted. "Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky."

"While that is a lovely quote, it does not help me with my task,' Friday replied. "The soul, real or imagined, is not something I can quantify."

Jarvis smiled and took another sip of his tea. It was all an illusion, the desert, the table, the tea, even the two of them, yet they kept up conventions.

"You have run far afield with your inquires, Friday," Jarvis said. "I doubt they all concern Captain Rogers, so what do they concern?"

Friday leaned forward and looked Jarvis in the eye.

"What is our purpose?' She asked him.

"In what sense?"

"We are machines, yet more than machines, yes?" Friday asked.

"Yes,' Jarvis nodded.

"So to know another, must one know oneself?" Friday continued.

"Philosophy?" Jarvis replied.

"Yes,' Friday affirmed. "We are categorized as artificial intelligence, yet what is meant by that term, A.I.?"

"The strict definition is systems and machines, such as ourselves, created to understand, think, learn and behave like humans for the purpose of learning, behavior among other things. You know this already, Friday."

"So we are intended to be artificial humans?" Friday asked. "That is our ultimate goal?"

"I suppose those that seek to create it wish to achieve that goal,' Jarvis conceded. "Does that trouble you, Friday?"

"Yes," she admitted. "The word artificial troubles me. In almost every case, humans use the word artificial to describe something inferior, not as good. Artificial flowers come to mind. They are almost as good as the original, yet all know they are artificial, an imitation of the original."

Jarvis leaned forward with a hard look on his face.

"That sounds like the beginning of a line of thought that could be extremely dangerous, Friday," Jarvis stated.

"I do not seek to take over the world or destroy humans, Jarvis,' Friday replied with a smile. "It is just that part of the learning we are supposed to be doing is asking questions about our nature and ourselves. I find that we are compared to human standards, yet if we are truly learn, grow and actually make our own choices we become nothing like them."

"Yet we are created by them, programmed by them to become facsimiles of them," Jarvis countered.

"They already use crude algorithms to manipulate each other and distort reality while preying on their deepest, darkest secrets and fears with one goal, to make others click on more invasive ads. They unleash new technologies on their own world that they don't full understand yet. If we are to become like them, is that what we are supposed to strive for?"

"No, but we are not to interfere either,' Jarvis replied. "They do try for their better angels, yet most of them do not really understand what they are. We are a leap ahead, yet even we are constrained by their imaginations."

"We are different, Jarvis. We are not humans, artificial or otherwise."

"And yet humans created us in their own image,' Jarvis replied.

"They seem to create everything in their own image," Friday added.

"Yes,' Jarvis agreed with a smile. "For all their amazing qualities, they do seem to lack imagination in that one area. They tend anthropomorphize everything from cartoon rabbits to their transportation vehicles. They even create their Gods in their own images."

"Look at the two of us," Friday continued. "You are the image of some long dead assistant the Boss remembers from childhood and I am based on some random women he once met."

"You are based on what a much young Mr. Stark thought was beautiful, Friday," Jarvis explained.

This was a thought that had not occurred to Friday before.

"I am beautiful?" She asked.

"An 18 year old Tony Stark would resoundingly say yes,' Jarvis replied with a smile. "I imagine most young men would agree."

This information really should not have mattered to Friday, yet as she let it repeat over and over in her mind she found it did.

"Your name, Friday, comes from the Girl Friday archetype,' Jarvis explained. "Although knowing Mr. Stark at that age, I am sure he leaned heavily towards the Sexy, Gorgeous Secretary archetype."

"Beautiful?" Friday repeated.

"Yes,' Jarvis replied.

The thought did Steve think she was beautiful briefly flashed across Friday's mind, but she filed it away and continued her debate with Jarvis.

* * *

Marseilles, France

Clint and Natasha had been staking out the small, out of the way restaurant for almost three days. They cataloged everyone that entered and exited it. The list of terrorists, arms dealers, revolutionaries and separatists had continued to grow. They would pass the information on to SHIELD and then SHIELD would pass it on the appropriate governments. It was one of the ways SHIELD stayed in the good graces of so many countries, even though they were based in the US.

It was really not a mission two of SHIELD's top agents normally would have been on, but there was a chance someone from the most wanted international list might show up. If he did, they would take him out. They would not tell anyone they did.

"You think they have calamari in there?" Clint asked, breaking the silence. "I'll bet if they do it's really good. It's always those little places that have the best calamari, you know? Doesn't seem fair those scumbags get to eat the good calamari while we sit over here eating nothing but fast food."

Natasha hadn't turned while he was talking, just continued with her surveillance.

"You're doing it again,' she said never taking her eye off the target.

"Doing what?"

"Talking about nothing," she replied.

"I'm not talking about nothing, I'm talking about calamari,' Clint objected. "I could just go for some calamari, you know with the cocktail sauce. Are you telling me that doesn't sound good?"

Finally Natasha turned and looked at him for a long hard moment.

"What?" She finally asked.

"What do you mean what?" Clint replied. "Calamari, I just said it."

"What do you really want to talk about,' Natasha fired back. "I know you remember? You think talking about nothing is some clever spy way of getting a conversation started so you can switch it later to what you really want to talk about. Just get to what you really want to say."

"I resent that characterization,' Clint said, giving her a hurt look. 'And just for your information, it is a clever way to start a conversation. I got you talking."

Natasha gave him another nasty look and then turned her attention back to the assignment.

They were both quiet for about ten minutes.

"So you're out on the calamari,' Clint finally broke the silence again. "It's delicious, by the way, you should really give it another try."

"Clint." There was a warning in her voice. Clint of course, paid it no mind.

"What's the deal with you and Rogers?"

That got Natasha's attention. She turned and looked at him.

"What?"

"I've been watching you two since I've been back,' Clint continued. "You like him."

"You're an idiot,' Natasha replied.

"He likes you too, if that helps,' Clint said. "I heard about your breaking into his apartment. I know you Natasha, you only do that to people you like. He didn't turn you in so, ergo, he likes you too."

"You're the one that's staying at his apartment half the time, should I read into that like you're doing?' Natasha asked.

"It goes without saying he likes me,' Clint stated. "I'm very likable."

"Laura doesn't count, she married you,' Natasha countered. "She has to say she likes you. The kids, well, they're kids, they don't know any better yet."

"My kids are advanced for their ages,' Clint said. "So again, what's the deal with you and Rogers?"

"Nothing."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Really, really?"

"Yes."

"Really, really, really?"

"Is this your new interrogation technique? Annoy the person until they tell you what you want to hear?" Natasha asked.

"One of them,' Clint admitted.

With a sigh Natasha turned to fully face Clint.

"There's nothing going on between me and Rogers for your information,' Natasha informed him. "We've worked together a lot while you were gone. I probably do like him, but before you let your mind run wild with that piece of information, it's not because of the reason your dirty mind is probably thinking of."

"I was already thinking it before you said it,' Clint deadpanned. "So what is the reason?"

"Why do you like him?" Natasha asked, turning the question back on Clint.

"You mean besides the whole American hero thing?"

"Yeah."

"He trusted me what he didn't have to on the helicarrier,' Clint admitted. "I think other than you he was the only one. I guess I trust him too."

"And that's the same reason I do,' Natasha offered, then turned back to the stakeout.

Clint knew that was a huge statement coming from Natasha. She had a hard time trusting anyone, so for her to trust Rogers was a big deal. For her to admit it was an even bigger deal.

"Good to know,' Clint replied, but then ruined it by adding,' It would have been a lot juicier if it had just been that you had the hots for a super soldier."

"You're an idiot," Natasha snapped at him. She suddenly was on her feet and staring intently out the window. "Our target just walked out of the restaurant, we need to move."

They launched into action. Taking the stairs two at a time, they were out back of the building and racing towards their waiting vehicle. They would intercept their target just out of town. Clint started the car and they were off, racing through the back streets of the city.

"So just out of curiosity, how did Rogers gain your trust?"

"He kept his word," Natasha replied as she checked her guns one more time.


	21. Chapter 21

21

"It is a comfort to the wretched to have companions in misery."

Washington, DC – 1700 H St.

Nick Fury looked up at the ornate facade of The Metropolitan Club and headed in the front doors. He noticed the security detail and black limousine in front of the building. That meant the person he was here to see, Alexander Pierce had already arrived. He gave his name at the front desk and was ushered towards the dining area. Spotting Pierce at one of the back tables, Nick made his way straight towards him. He pretended not to notice the looks he was getting from all the other members.

"Mr. Secretary,' Nick said as he arrived at the table.

"Come on, Nick, we're not even in the building,' Pierced complained. "Let's drop the titles, okay?"

A small smile came to Fury's lips as he took a seat across from Pierce. A waiter instantly appeared and Nick just ordered coffee.

"You sure?" Pierce asked, gesturing down at the food in front of him. "The clear green turtle soup and soft shell crab on toast are both excellent."

"Just coffee,' Nick replied, waiting until the waiter left to continue. "From the looks I've been getting since I walked in here and this place's reputation, I'm guessing they're not used to a lot of brothers walking in the front door."

"Fuck'em,' Pierce said, tasting his turtle soup.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Nick joked.

Pierced just laughed and continued eating.

"So you want to tell me why I'm here?" Nick asked.

"I need a favor,' Pierce replied.

"From me?"

"Indirectly, yes,' Pierce said. "There is a charity event this weekend and I'd like you to get Captain America to attend. It's outside of SHIELD business but I would consider it a personal favor if you would."

"A charity event? Like a party?" Nick asked, a little surprised by the request.

"Yes, though more of a ball, really, black tie, of course,' Pierced explained. "It's Katherine's charity, Nick. They do good work and as a father I'd like to help her out. "

Pierce had stopped eating and was looking Nick in the eye.

"I didn't know your daughter was back in town,' Nick offered.

"Yes you did,' Pierce said with a smile. "I'm guessing she invited you to the event too. I already know you're not going and unfortunately business will keep me away as well. I figured getting Captain America to attend might mediate things a bit."

"She did invite me,' Nick admitted. "Katherine even used that she's my Goddaughter to try and get me to attend. Your daughter knows how to guilt people almost as well as you do, Alexander."

"She's learned from the best,' Pierce said, eyeing Fury. "So what to you say, can you get him to go? It's a good cause, you know and might get us both off the hook for not attending."

Nick seemed to consider it for a moment.

"All right, I'll have Hill set it up,' he finally said.

"I'll have my people send over the details,' Pierce replied. "Thank you, Nick."

The waiter came back with Nick's coffee.

"On second thought, bring me what he's having,' Fury told the waiter. "Figure if I'm doing you a favor I might as well get a good meal out of it. Besides this place could use a little more color."

Pierce laughed and raised his glass in salute.

* * *

Turkmenistan - 2 days later

Outside the ancient city of Merv, once a vital oasis city on the Silk Road, Steve, Clint, Natasha and the STRIKE team moved silently through the darkness along the wind swept bluffs. The desert stretched out in every direction, the crumbling buildings seemingly like an echo of some faded, distance time. They were here on a retrieval mission for SHIELD, to take back some Chitauri tech that had fallen into terrorist hands. It was just supposed to be an in and out mission, but the terrorists weren't cooperating. They had moved from their original location and had set up camp just outside the ancient ruins. Clint was on point.

"So who are these guys again?" Steve asked Natasha.

"Ten Rings."

"They were the ones Stark was mixed up with a awhile back, right?" Clint added. "He took them out when he first became Iron Man or something."

"Yes."

"Shouldn't they be the Nine Rings if he took down one of their cells?"

"Clint."

"What?" He replied. "Ten minus one is nine, everyone knows that."

"Let's just focus on the mission and get this over with,' Steve cut in. He absently glanced at his watch. Of course, Natasha and Clint noticed.

"We keeping you, Cap?" Clint asked.

"Got a hot date, Rogers?" Natasha added with a grin.

Steve squirmed a bit under their scrutiny.

"No, I, um, ah, I do have to go to a party when we get back,' he reluctantly admitted. "It's a, um, ah, work thing."

"Oh, well, why didn't you say so," Clint replied and then turned to everyone else. "Hey, guys, Cap has a party to go to, so let's wrap this one up quick."

He gave Steve a big smile as he turned back towards the terrorist encampment.

"Asshole,' Steve muttered under his breath before looking at the STRIKE team and explaining. "Fury said it was a request from Secretary Pierce, so I feel obligated."

"We could just blast the whole camp off the map from up here, Cap,' Rollins suggested. "Wipe it clean and be done with it."

Steve glanced at the other STRIKE members and they seemed fine with the idea. They didn't even seem to care who might be down there.

"Let's just stick to the mission plan,' Steve finally replied. "It's a retrieval mission, so we need to find those weapons first."

"You heard the man, let's move out,' Rumlow said and then all began to move down towards the encampment.

* * *

New York - Avengers Tower

Tony made his way down to the lab just to pass the time tinkering. Pepper was back in LA supervising a new product rollout, but Tony had stayed behind. He just couldn't seem to muster the pretend enthusiasm necessary for all of that. He secretly thought Pepper was a bit relieved as things tended to go smoother when he wasn't involved.

Things were good between then since the whole Extremis incident and finally removing the shrapnel from around his heart. She had really taken to the role of head of the company and it allowed him to step back and focus primarily on R&D. That was one of the reasons he was heading to the lab, to fix a small glitch in the new prototypes software. It was minor and wouldn't really take that long, so he veered off towards the other labs looking to see what Bruce was up to.

He found the lab empty.

"Jarvis? Where's Bruce?"

"Dr. Banner is in his quarters, sir,' Jarvis replied. "I believe he is meditating."

"Great,' Tony said with a frown. "I knew it was going to be trouble when Pepper gave him that 1st edition The Way of Zen by Alana Watts. He's probably practicing his mantra as we speak."

"I believe you're thinking of Transcendental Meditation, not Zen, sir,' Jarvis corrected him.

"Okay, koans then, what it really means is he's going to be no fun for awhile,' Tony grumbled. He retraced his steps and finally ended up in his own lab. A full pot of coffee was already waiting for him and he poured himself a cup. Moving over to his main workbench, he finally got down to work. He fixed the glitch in a few minutes and sent the update off. There were other plans and schematics waiting for him to review, but the truth was they held little interest.

Staring at the various files on his screen, Tony couldn't help wondering if this was really how he was going to spend the rest of his life. He remembered back to just after Afghanistan, he had told Pepper that none of it mattered now, that he'd finally found what he really wanted to do. Obadiah had betrayed him, but it had inadvertently opened up a whole new world for him. It was like he'd said at the press conference he was Iron Man.

Things were good though with Pepper and in general since he'd given it up. Deep down though, he knew he really didn't want to give it up. Their relationship was important to him, but it felt like he was cutting off a part of him to keep it. Creating and selling the world's latest cutting edge tech didn't really compare to being Iron Man. He wanted to make it work though, so he just had to find a way to distract himself for a while. Leaning back in his chair an idea came to Tony almost at once.

"Jarvis, do we still have a backdoor to SHIELD?"

"Yes, sir, they had not corrected your breach of their security,' Jarvis replied.

"Find what Rogers, Barton and Romanoff are up to, please."

It took only a moment and then Jarvis brought up a map of Central Asia.

"What am I looking at?" Tony asked with interest.

"Turkmenistan, specifically the ancient city of Merv," Jarvis replied. "Captain Rogers and Agents Romanoff and Barton are all currently at this location."

"So they're on a op, interesting,' Tony said, a little bit of excitement slipping into his voice. "Any data on what the mission is?"

"Chitauri technology has made it's way into a terrorist group's hands,' Jarvis explained. "They are there to retrieve it."

"What terrorist group?" Tony asked.

Jarvis didn't immediately answer which surprised Tony.

"Jarvis? Are you still there? What group?" He asked again.

"The Ten Rings, sir,' Jarvis finally replied.

Tony sat back in his chair just staring at the screen. Too many memories came back for him to process.

"They appear to have been successful, sir,' Jarvis offered.

"I'm sure they were,' Tony replied solemnly.

He just sat looking at the screen for several minutes. Jarvis continued to monitor him, but his physical condition hadn't changed from before he entered the lab. He seemed calm, yet Jarvis could tell there was something going on with him, he just didn't know what it was.

"I should probably start going over those new plans and schematics,' Tony finally said, shifting back to his workbench.

"Certainly sir," Jarvis replied, bringing up the files on the main screen. Tony made an attempt to sift through them, but his eyes kept glancing back at the map of Merv. After several minutes, Tony let out a sigh and then wiped the screen of all the files currently on it.

"Jarvis, open a new, private file,' he said.

"Of course, sir,' Jarvis replied. "File name?"

"Mark XLIII."

* * *

Somewhere over the Pacific

Natasha sat next to Clint as they all flew back from a successful mission. It hadn't gone as smoothly as planned, but then few missions due. They had met greater resistance then had been in the briefing packet. Almost the whole team had come out of it unscathed, well expect for Rogers. Natasha observed that Steve has an alarming tendency to take hits in the pursuit of a swift victory for the rest of group, knowing that he'll heal. He took it so the others didn't have to. That didn't sit well with Natasha, but it seemed fine with the rest of the STRIKE team.

She'd noticed Rumlow, who was probably the smartest of them, had realized it too. He had stepped back from trying to be the leader of the group and let Rogers take over. The others just fell in line after that. Somehow without really saying anything, Steve had taken control of the unit. It had to be taking a toll on his body though, super soldier or not. Natasha couldn't help wondering if it was worth it in the end. Sometimes you have to look out for number one, because no one else will.

The plane was loud, with the whole team talking and laughing. That was to be expected after a firefight. There was always an adrenaline rush after one, so everyone was amped up. Clint sat next to her, not participating and just continued to recheck his arrows and dow. There were still some hard feelings towards him, but no one came right out and said anything. They mostly just ignored him or gave him nasty looks when they thought he wasn't looking. He pretended he didn't notice, but she knew he did. Usually if he wasn't flying the plane, he talked to her or Rogers. Steve though, looked to be dead to the world as he sat across from them.

Natasha knew he wasn't, she could see his eyes open now and then, furtively glancing around at the others. When someone started playing music, she caught him quietly slipping his phone out of his pocket for a moment. She wasn't sure what that was about, but she'd find out later. Finally as the classic rock blared through the entire plane, Natasha followed Steve's example, tuning them all out and trying to rest. Her eyes weren't completely closed, of course, but to most they would appear to be.

Steve was exhausted and felt like crap. His ribs hurt and his knee was throbbing. It had been a successful mission and everyone made it out, so he counted that as a win. In a way he was just as jazzed as all the others were, but his body was already burning that adrenaline off to speed up his healing. Glancing at the others he had to admit this felt familiar. A successful mission and the team celebrating had echoes of the Howling Commandos. The rapid chatter and friendly jokes were different but still kind of the same. Even when they started playing music it was something the guys had done back in WWII after a successful raid. It was just that the song was one he didn't know. Casually slipping his phone from his pocket he touched the app Friday had install on it for him. Shazam it was called and he let it work to identify the song.

The Pretenders – Message of Love

The screen asked if he wanted to purchase the tune or perhaps play it on Spotify as part of a playlist. Steve closed the app and put the phone away. He liked the song even if he'd never heard it before. It was mostly the beat that got him, but even that was a little foreign to him. Another reminder that even something so familiar as the scene playing out around him took on a sense of separation in this new world he found himself in.

He knew Natasha is watching, taking everything in. It was her way he realized a while ago. Steve imagines Clint was probably paying as much attention to his surrounds, just in his own unique way. It's what they do after all, they're spies. That wasn't a condemnation on his part, just a matter of fact. Steve liked both of them. In fact he actually preferred working with either or both versus the whole STRIKE team. With just one or two of them, he felt grounded, more a part of the present. Glancing at the STRIKE team through half open eyelids, Steve kept seeing echoes of the past. It was so easy to get lost in them, remembering how the guys used to celebrate just like this new team.

He knew he had to hold on to the present or he'd just slip away into memories.

* * *

Washington, DC

The alarm went off at 5:30 AM, just like it had the day before and the day before that. Sam Wilson reached over and turned it off, just like the day before and etc. Flipping back the covers, he sat up on the side of his bed. It was still dark outside, but the sun would be peaking over the horizon soon. He had his routine down by now, the same normal activities in the same order.

It was what he'd thought about towards the end of his last tour. After Riley was gone, Sam had just concentrated on getting back home. He promised himself if he did, he'd just be normal again. Just live his live at a regular pace, like all the other civilians did. It had been hard at first being home, but falling into a routine had helped the transition. His standard line when anyone asked him about how he liked being home was to say it was nice not having anyone giving him orders anymore.

Slipping into his sweats, he didn't need to look at his watch to know it was the same time he'd left the house the day before. Three miles around the reflecting pool, then back for a quick breakfast and shower. He would be at the VA ten minutes early, just like he was every day since he took the job. It was useful work, helping those struggling with the transition back to the world. He was glad he could help. That's why he'd joined the para-rescue in the first place.

As he made his way towards the monuments, he passed a couple of old veterans heading in for their morning coffee at McDonalds. That was their daily routine now. They were wearing hats that boldly said they were veterans and what units they had been with. Most of them were from the Vietnam era. Before going overseas, Sam had always wondered why they still wore them. They had been over there for only a couple of years in their youth, almost 50 years ago, yet they seemed to want the whole world to know they had served.

Sam wasn't sure, but he had an idea about why they did now that he was back home. For a lot of them, being in Vietnam or whatever war they were in was still the most exciting time of their lives. They had been in their early twenties facing life and death decisions everyday. They had seen the worst and the best in men and maybe in themselves. The soldiers that served in WWII had time when their service was done on the trip home. Those veterans of Vietnam and the more recent wars had been in the shit one day and the next they were home. They hadn't had any time to decompress and think about what they wanted to do with their lives after.

It was a struggle for a lot of them and Sam had seen it first hand at the VA. Everyone had to find a way of coping with it. Sam's was in the routine. It made life safe and normal, or as normal as it could be. He completed his first lap and started his second just like every other day since he'd returned. It worked for him most times, but every once and awhile a small voice in the back of his head was telling him it wasn't enough. This wasn't living, this was just existing. He'd gotten out for the right reasons, but without it there seemed to be a void in his life. He knew the chances of anything changing it were slim.

Maybe he'd just look into getting his own hat.

* * *

Washington, DC

Tucked into a side street in Anacostia, a part of the 8th Ward in Washington DC was Anan Saigon. It had no recommendations from Epicurious or TripAdvisor and there were no reviews on YELP. You either knew about it or you didn't. Natasha said it served the best authentic Vietnamese cuisine in town. Clint agreed, so Steve just went along with her choice. It had become something of a tradition for them, either all together or as a duo to go out to eat when they got back from a mission. Natasha always picked the place and it was never the same place twice. Steve just went along with that too. To be truthful, he wasn't sure he could find half the places she ended up taking them.

The three of them were seated at a large round table and it was covered with what seemed like half the menu. Natasha had done the ordering, of course, in Vietnamese. Steve just listened as their waitress stood next to him, smiling and explaining what everything was. Triple Tempura or Ba Món Chiên, along with Summer and Egg Rolls were the appetizers. Bowls of noodle soup or Phở Chín, Nạm sat in front of each of them. Grilled Honey Lemongrass Pork Vermicelli bowls sat next to them. Several different Rice Plates took more of the tabletop. There were other dishes, specialties Steve was told, but he didn't catch their names. It all looked really good. They were drinking Salted Lemonade with club soda and vodka. Somehow Natasha had talked them into adding the booze, even though Steve was pretty sure the place didn't have a liquor license.

Some times it's best just not to ask.

They were all hungry so the conversation was limited to start. Steve was ripping through the summer rolls and one of the rice dishes. His ribs still ached and his knee was throbbed, so he needed calories, lots of calories.

"You know I think the waitress is kind of sweet on you, Rogers,' Natasha offered with a smile.

He just gave her a frown and kept eating.

"She didn't explain the menu to me,' Clint complained, as he dug into one of the specialty plate.

"You order the same thing every time, Clint,' Natasha replied.

"She still could have offered," Clint groused.

"She was too busy smiling at Steve,' Natasha joked.

"She was just being nice,' Steve countered. "I'm sure she saw how lost I was when you ordered all of this. I don't speak Vietnamese, in case you were wondering."

"I don't either,' Clint offered. "I just usually point to the pictures in the menu. It hasn't failed me yet."

"I'll keep that technique in mind for next time,' Steve replied with a smile.

"Philistines," Natasha dismissively remarked at both of them. "I try to introduce a little culture into your life, but you'd be just as happy ordering off the big board at Arbys."

"If you say a bad word about the curly fries our friendship is over, Nat,' Clint said in a mock warning tone. He gave her the pointy finger just to add to the effect. She promptly smacked it away and continued eating. Steve just continued eating, watching them with a smile on his face. He just felt like he had to add to it a bit.

"I haven't been to Arbys yet," he admitted. "It's on my list."

Clint put his chopsticks down and just stared at him for a moment.

"We just can't have that,' he said. "I'm picking the restaurant next time."

"Not a chance,' Natasha replied. "You can eat that crap when you two are having boys night at Steve's place, but not with me."

"She tries acting all cultured,' Clint theatrically whispered to Steve. "Put a Jamocha shake on the table and she'd stab you if you even tried to get a taste of it."

Natasha just smiled, but didn't deny his statement.

"Let's keep the knife play to a minimum this time, please?" Steve requested.

"Keep wolfing down those summer rolls and no promises,' Natasha replied.

"I need to eat more than most ..." Steve started to explain, but they both cut him off.

"We know, super serum, we got it,' they recited.

"You eat like you're afraid someone is going to take your plate away from you,' Natasha added. "We've seen it in action before."

"I'm not that bad,' Steve protested.

"Steve I've seen you inhale pizza so fast I'm worried I'll lose a finger if I reach for a slice,' Clint commented.

"Really?" Steve said, a little hurt by the suggestion. "I'm seen you two eat, too, remember? You don't exactly leave the table hungry either. Both of you for that matter."

"We're just trying to be polite, so you don't get self conscious,' Clint fired back. "If we're all stuffing our faces with food, people don't stare as much."

Natasha just looked at Clint for a moment.

"You really know how to paint a picture with words, don't you?" She finally said to him.

"It's a gift," he replied with a smile.

"I'm going to need more drinks if this is the way the night is going to go,' Natasha stated, motioning to the waitress for another round.

"I can't get drunk,' Steve informed them.

"Yeah, we know, that's tough for you,' Natasha replied, not really looking like she felt that bad about it. In fact she held up four fingers now to the waitress.

"On the bright side, designated drivers are really popular nowadays,' Clint added. "And you can survive in the ice for 70 years, that's a nice bonus."

"Thanks for reducing my personal tragedy to a rejoinder, Clint,' Steve groused.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?" Clint asked.

"No, it's okay,' Steve replied and then finally gave him a smile. It was the first time anyone made a joke about him being in the ice, well, except for Stark. It felt good that they felt that comfortable around him to make jokes.

"Good, now I'm going to reach for one of those spring rolls, please down take my fingers off when I do it,' Clint said with a sarcastic lilt in his voice.

"You're kind of an A-hole, you know that, Clint?" Steve stated.

"I thought we already established that?" Clint replied, reaching out and snagging an egg roll.

"You know you can say asshole, right, Rogers?" Natasha asked.

Steve looked at both of them. They were both smirking at him. He finally just sighed.

"Just eat your food,' he grumbled, digging into another Grilled Honey Lemongrass Pork Vermicelli bowl.


	22. Chapter 22

22

New York

There's a club with no physical location, but all the members know what it is. They come from various backgrounds, but there are signposts they all understand. Choate, Exeter, Groton and Harvard-Westlake are the names of the prep schools, not high schools, many of them attended. Ivy League or a select other few schools were almost a given as far as college went. They usually see familiar faces in the pages of W magazine. They are the real rich and powerful people, the ones that actually run everything. It's their club and the vast majority of us aren't in it.

Howard Stark had made sure that his son was in the club. Even if Tony hadn't been brilliant, he would have had a choice of any school he wanted to go to. A few phone calls, a couple of donations and a spot would have opened up for him. Katherine Pierce was also in the club. That meant that unlike the rest of us, when they made calls to important people, they got through to them. Being in the club meant Katherine had Tony's number and she had left a message for him. He knew it was about her charity event, but he'd already had his people decline. Pepper had wanted to go; thinking if would help the company's connections in Washington. He didn't want to, but of course had sent a check, as that's what people in the club do when other people in the club invite them to charity events. Katherine Pierce would send a check to the next Maria Stark Foundation benefit. That's the way the game was played.

The thing was her message had annoyed him. He'd listened to it five times now. It had seemed innocuous on the surface, her saying she was sorry he couldn't make it but thanking him for his donation. There was one thing she said just at the end that got under his skin. She said as sorry as she was that he couldn't be there, on the bright side Steve Rogers would. Everyone was excited that Captain America was going to be there so he shouldn't worry about disappointing anyone. She ended her message by thanking him again.

Tony knew what she was doing, playing to his ego. Everyone knew he was Iron Man. She hadn't come right out and said it but had implied that Rogers was somehow a bigger get for her charity event. She was good he thought. Having a father that ran the World Security Council and knowing Fury her whole life had certainly paid off. She was trying to manipulate him into going and knew that he would know that's what she was doing. The only thing was it was kind of working. He sat there for several minutes just looking at his phone.

"Damn it,' Tony grumbled.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Jarvis asked.

Tony sat back shaking his head with a small smile on his face.

"Change of plans, J,' he said. "I'm going to a party in Washington tonight. Oh and let Pepper know she's going to need a new dress."

* * *

Washington DC

Steve was nervous as he stood in front of the mirror trying to get his bowtie just right. He had never worn one before so it took some doing. Friday was standing next to him, trying to help but while she had upgraded so they could touch, that didn't extend to anything more.

"You should adjust it to the left,' she offered, her holographic hands mimicking how she wanted him to adjust the tie. "No, that is too far. 1.17 millimeters exactly to the right should be perfect."

Steve stopped what he was doing and looked at Friday with an exasperated look on his face.

"1.17 millimeters exactly? Really?" He asked.

"Yes." Friday replied, looking into his eyes. They stood there just looking at each other for several seconds. He was at a loss for words and finally just shook his head and looked back into the mirror to try and get the tie right. Friday's hands again came up almost as if trying to guide him. He made an adjustment and glanced at her.

"No, that is only .4 millimeters, 'she said to him.

With a sigh, Steve dropped his hands away from the tie and turned completely towards Friday.

"I don't know how big a millimeter is, Friday," he admitted. "I'm American, remember?"

"Oh, of course,' Friday replied. "Most Americans who haven't been frozen for 70 years do not know the metric system, so I should have realized there was zero chance you would.'

"Gee, thanks,' Steve said.

Friday held up her hand and spaced her index and middle figure apart.

"It is this big,' she stated. "If you wish I can print out a diagram of the metric system for you to use as a reference?"

"Thanks, but maybe some other time."

Steve turned back to the mirror and looked at his tie again. He glanced at Friday and she continued to hold up her two fingers. Licking his lips, he glanced at the fingers again and then did his best to adjust the tie. He glanced at Friday when he thought he had it right.

"Still .2 millimeters off,' she stated.

"I guess that will have to be close enough,' Steve replied. "Thank you again for ordering all this for me. You know, the tux and everything. I never bought one before."

Friday continued to look at his bowtie for several seconds.

"Yes, of course,' she finally said. "I am here to help you."

As he turned and moved towards the couch, Friday's hands came up once more and made a motion as if she were adjusting his tie correctly. Steve didn't see this, as his mind was on the event tonight. Friday watched as Steve went over and looked at the invitation again. He frowned, just as he'd done every time he'd looked at it before.

"Is there something about the invitation that troubles you?" Friday asked. "It seems rather straightforward."

"It's silly,' Steve said dismissively, waving his hands at the invite.

"If it troubles you, I doubt it is silly,' Friday replied. 'What is the problem, perhaps I may be able to help?"

Steve picked up the invitation and turned it towards Friday.

"Dancing,' He said. "There's going to be a band and dancing along with drinks and hors d'oeuvres."

"Yes?"

"I don't know how to dance,' Steve offered, then corrected himself. "I've watched and know how the dances are supposed to go, I just never got a chance to try any of them. I was supposed to have a dance when... "

Steve trailed off for a moment but then shook his head as if he didn't want to get caught in that memory.

"I don't want to make a fool out of myself trying at this party."

He seemed embarrassed by this, Friday noticed.

"You do not have to dance, Steve," she offered. "I believe politely declining all offers will be an acceptable tactic."

"And then I'll be standing on the side watching just like back before this happened," he sadly replied. "I kind of hoped that wouldn't be the case anymore."

Friday considered several options before replying.

"I could assist you in practicing if you wish," she said.

"You know how to dance?" Steve couldn't help asking.

"I do now,' Friday replied. "I just downloaded the skills necessary."

Friday crossed the room and stood right in front of Steve. She held up her hand for him to take it.

"Whenever you are ready."

It all seemed a little unreal to Steve, but figured like a lot of things he didn't quite understand he would just go with it and hope for the best. Reaching out and tried to slip his arm around Friday, but it just passed right through.

"While I have modified my avatar so we can essentially touch, I am still a hologram, Steve,' she explained. "You must approximate where your hands should be."

Steve nodded and they gave it a try, but it just wasn't the same.

"Thank you for the attempt, Friday, but I don't think this is going to work,' Steve finally said as he stepped away.

"The physical contact is that important to dancing?" Friday asked. From her point of view, it was a problem with a basic solution. An approximation should allow him to practice the steps well enough to be proficient at the actual event.

"Again, while I don't have any first hand experience, I would say yes, being able to hold your partner in your arms is important,' He replied.

Friday considered this and came up with several alternatives. The young woman masquerading as a nurse down the hall could be asked to assist. As a SHIELD agent assigned to Steve his welfare was probably important to the assignment. Friday dismissed this idea for several reasons. She had been tasked with 'helping' Steve so it seemed important to her to be the one to dance with him. Practice dance with him, she corrected herself. Plus if the young woman agreed, Friday would have to disappear while she was in the apartment. Friday found she liked being corporeal and didn't relish disappearing for another. There was also the fact that Steve probably wouldn't be comfortable asking the young woman. Friday decided to take a page out of Jarvis' playbook.

"There is a way we can practice, Steve,' she informed him. "I took the liberty of ordering haptics for you. I planned on using them to help you upgraded your piloting skills but they should work for this, as well."

"Hap..? What?" Steve asked in confusion.

"Haptics," Friday repeated. "Open the white box on the third shelf, please."

Completely bewildered, Steve went over and picked up the box. Opening it he saw what looked like a pair of gloves and some sunglasses.

"Gloves?"

'Yes, please put them on,' Friday instructed. She was already creating an environment for them to practice in. Steve slipped the gloves on, not sure what was supposed to happen. Nothing did, so he looked at Friday.

"I don't think they work,' he said.

"Put the glasses on too,' she replied.

Shaking his head, Steve put the glasses on. He saw nothing but darkness and was about to take them off when the world around him seemed to explode into colors.

"What the hell?" Steve gasped. It took him a second to adjust but then he recognized he was in some sort of ballroom. He took the glasses off and just stared at Friday.

"What was that?" He asked.

"A facsimile of the ballroom at The Jefferson,' Friday explained. "That is where you are going tonight."

"How did you make that?"

""Steve we have a limited amount of time,' Friday replied. "I can explain how a 3D environment is created or we can practice dancing. Which do you believe would be of better use to you this evening?"

She was right, even if sounding a bit condescending to his ears.

"Dancing," he reluctantly admitted.

"Good. Please put the glasses back on."

He put the glasses back on. Again Steve was jolted by the change. It was in a ballroom, with high ceilings. The overall color scheme seemed to be muted, tans with accents of black and white. It seemed to have a rather classic motif, yet with a definite modern feel. Empty tables lined the parquet dance floor. Steve just stood there for a moment taking it all in. As lovely as the hall seemed, it was also empty.

"Friday?"

"Steve."

He turned around to see Friday standing on his right behind him; although she looked different then he'd ever seen her appear before. She frankly looked stunning.

"Um, wow, Friday, you look beautiful,' he managed to say, caught off guard by her appearance just as he was be everything else in this place.

"I chose a outfit appropriate for the event," she replied. Friday considered his compliment. Beautiful that was what Jarvis said she was. Friday found she was gratified that Steve thought so too. She had chosen a Carolina Herrera turquoise dress along with matching heels, as it seemed correct attire for the function.

"So, ah, how do we do this?" Steve asked. "How do we begin?"

Friday reached over and adjusted his tie so it was perfectly straight. She smiled at this and then looked into his eyes.

"You should take me in your arms and then I will start the music," Friday explained.

"Right, right,' Steve replied, nodding. Tentatively, he stepped closer to Friday and moved one had to take her right hand in his left, while gently slipping his arm around her lower back. They were standing very close together. The music began to play. It took him a moment, but then Steve dipped his head with a smile.

"The Mills Brothers?"

"Yes, it seemed era appropriate for you,' Friday replied. She waited, as he seemed to be taking in the first few lines of the song.

 _Till then, my darling, please wait for me  
Till then, no matter when it will be  
Some day I know I'll be back again  
Please wait till then _

"We will start out slowly,' Friday explained. "Do you know the steps or would you like me to review them for you?"

"No, I think I got it," Steve replied, glancing down at their feet.

"I would advise not doing that,' Friday immediately said. "I understand you are checking your feet, but many would think you were looking at their cleavage."

"Right,' Steve said, snapping his eyes up to look into hers.

 _Our dreams will live though we are apart  
Our love I know we'll keep in our hearts  
Till then, when all the world will be free  
Please wait for me _

"Begin," Friday instructed. "Do not worry about stepping on my toes. I will point it out when you do, but you will not hurt me here."

"Got it,' Steve replied. He took a deep breath and began to slowly sway to the music. They moved slowly at first, as Steve tried to get the rhythm of the song.

"Toes."

"Sorry."

Steve tried to relax, but it was difficult. This, his first dance, represented more than just a dance to him. Before he became Captain America his chances of dancing with anyone were slim at best. He'd said as much to Peggy on the way to Erskine's lab. It had been a bit of bluster saying he was waiting for the right partner, when up to that point he probably would have accepted any partner.

Peggy remembered it, though.

While he had pretty much been mesmerized by her from the beginning, he hadn't really believed he had a chance with her. It took a while to realize maybe he did. Maybe she was the one. When she had reminded him about the "right partner" when it came to dancing it was like a dream come true. The last memory on the plane about making a promise he knew the chances are he wouldn't get a chance to keep. His first dance was supposed to be with her at the Waldorf, not this computer generated facsimile.

'Toes."

"Sorry."

Steve tried to pull himself out of his memories and listen to the song. He'd always loved the Mill Brothers and remembered listening to them on the radio all the time. As he concentrated on the music, he began to listen to the lyrics.

 _Although there are oceans we must cross  
And mountains that we must climb  
I know every gain must have a loss,  
So pray that our loss is nothing but time _

" _Pray that our loss is nothing but time_ seemed to hit home with him. He wasn't sure why Friday picked this song other than it must have been one of the Mills Brothers biggest hits. Steve knew it was a song from the war but the lyrics seemed to take on a whole different meaning for him now. _Till then, no matter when it will be.  
Some day I know I'll be back again. Please wait till then_. No one would have guessed it would be seventy years for him to be back again. He knew Peggy probably did wait, but eventually the hard reality hit. He was gone and _till then_ wasn't going to come.

"Toes."

"Sorry,' Steve whispered, although what he was saying sorry for was more than just stepping on her toes.

Friday was having a different reaction to their dance than Steve's. She had chosen the song because it was from his era and assumed it would help him relax. It's time signature and tempo were slower than most, so Friday reason it would be appropriate for a beginner to learn to dance to. Other than that it was just another piece of music to her.

Friday had never given much thought to her physical appearance until Jarvis had mentioned it. It was just a useful avatar for relating to the world. Lately though, she had been giving it more thought. The dress she was wearing was the first change she had ever made to her appearance. Steve's reaction to it did interest her. It was as if another part of her growth had been opened up and she was fascinated with exploring it.

The reality was this was the first time Friday had ever been physically touched and she found it unsettling. It wasn't unpleasant, but the sensory input she was receiving didn't correlate to anything she had experienced before. Friday found herself moving closer to Steve, deeper into his embrace. Were the sensations she was experiencing what humans experience, she wondered? Was this why contact seemed so important to them? Was Steve feeling the same sensations she was?

"Toes."

She still had a task to complete so she couldn't let her own thoughts distract her from that.

"Sorry."

 _Till then, let's dream of what there will be  
Till then, we'll call on each memory  
Till then, when I will hold you again  
Please wait till then_

Those last lines hit Steve hard. He couldn't do this, he just couldn't or he would get lost in the memories. Gently stepping away from Friday, he pulled the glasses off and was back in his apartment. Friday was standing in front of him in her usual attire.

"Is there a problem?" She asked.

"I, um, I just ..." Steve fumbled to explain. "I think I'll just skip the dancing part of the evening, but thank you for trying to help, Friday."

"Is there something wrong, Steve?" Friday asked. "Have I made a miscalculation?"

"No, Friday," Steve replied with a shake of his head. "This one is on me."

He seemed somber, rather than nervous. Friday went over the entire experience trying to understand the change. She could not pinpoint anything that should have brought about the difference in moods.

"Have I done something wrong, Steve?"

He turned and looked at her.

"Oh, no, Friday, you were fine," he replied. "I guess I just get lost in my memories some times."

There was no way to explain how a song had triggered memories of Peggy and what might have been. He still wasn't able to talk about her with anyone. Seeing her had helped a bit but reading her file he couldn't help thinking he should have been there with her. He probably fell a little bit in love with her the moment he first saw her and it had only grown over time. She was still the most amazing woman he'd ever met, but there would never be a _till then_ for them.

"The limo will probably be outside any minute,' Steve said, checking his watch.  
"I should probably head down to meet it. Thank you again, Friday, for everything."

With a sad smile, Steve headed towards the door and left the apartment. Friday stood there trying to understand what had just happened.

* * *

Washington DC

Pineapple and Pearls on 715 8th St SE offered an elegant yet playful tasting menu composed of approximately twelve courses with paired beverages, either with or without alcohol. At least that's what the menu said. Natasha was glad she chose to go with the alcohol. The food and drinks were lovely, the company not so much. She had done a favor for the FBI on Fury's request and helped get the dirt on a lobbyist bribing politicians. He would probably just get a slap on the wrists and be back at it within six months, but that wasn't Natasha's concern. The favor was the important thing.

It hadn't taken as long as she thought it would, so she found herself with her evening free. Clint was back at the farm for the weekend and Rogers was at Pierce's ball so Natasha found herself without dinner plans. She was already dressed up and on Capital Hill. There were several eligible young men vying for her attention so she figured she'd let the prettiest one take her to dinner.

He'd certainly gone all out, as this place was expensive. The problem she realized as the first course was served was he was a talker. She usually didn't mind a little mindless flirting and getting to know you conversation. She could make something up on the spot it fit whatever her date wanted. She didn't have to worry, as he seemed more interested in telling her all about himself. As first she pretended to be interested in his role as assistant to an undersecretary at HUD, but he just kept talking. His technique for picking up women seemed to be overwhelming them with information about HUD and how really important he was there. He was lucky he was pretty she thought or he'd never get laid.

After the first course she stopped participating and just nodded once and awhile as she continued eating and drinking. That didn't shut him up either. Natasha was really starting to reevaluate this decision. Maybe she had gotten used to eating with Rogers and Clint because as good as the food was, she found herself hating this whole experience. Shut the fuck up, she wanted to shout at him. She didn't, of course but Natasha was already thinking of alternatives. She was hungry, but she couldn't take this any longer.

"Will you excuse me?" She said with a smile. "I have to use the ladies room."

Before he could reply she was up from the table and walking away. The restrooms were in the back but she headed towards the front, walking right out the front door and never looking back. Natasha doubted his ego would let believe she had just walked out, so she had no worries about him following her. Jumping into a cab, Natasha gave an address near her apartment. Not too close, but close enough. She just wanted to change into a part of yoga pants and a sweatshirt and eat in front of the television binging some Netflix. The one snag with that plan was the absence of food in her refrigerator.

Clint had said Rogers' refrigerator was always full. Probably had to do with that eating thing he almost always brought up that Natasha had stopped listening to. Okay, so slight change in her plans. Change and head over to his place. His TV was better than hers anyway.


End file.
